


Fight the Good Fight.

by spartan303



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1788157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spartan303/pseuds/spartan303
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two worlds, one defined by ancient magic, the other modern science, are about to collide in the ultimate clash of civilizations when a long lost secret is found and threatens to destroy them both. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret from the Past.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a jointly authored story which is hosted here, HP archive, Spacebattles and at FF.net, between (Independence-Day) and myself (she is currently not a member). It’s a Harry Potter/Avengers Fusion story, set post events of Deathly Hallows and Post Avengers movie. The Marvel Cinematic universe is the primary source we will be drawing from on the Marvel side, but that is not to say the only source. For Harry Potter we are drawing mainly from the books, but are using the movies as guide (particularly in establishing the look of the characters). As it is, the events of Deathly Hallows has been pushed back 10 years to 2008 rather than 1998. This would make Hermione Granger 21 years of age. For Cap this is a few months post Avengers meaning he's around 26 years of age (physically).

Fight the Good Fight.

 

Chapter 1.

The attic was a maze of tottering stacks of boxes and tarp covered furniture, cobwebs and dust formed a fine film over nearly every surface, and Hermione thought she could hear the scuttling, scratching noises of little paws, but she wouldn’t leave now. She’d promised to organize and clean out the attic for her parents, and, really, it was nice to have a moment away from them. She loved her parents, otherwise she never would have done what she did but it seemed they were struggling to come to terms with it, the betrayal. And it had been a betrayal. Hermione was under no illusions. She’d done the right thing, protecting her parents had been of the utmost priority, but when she’d found them in the United States and reversed the False Memory Charm they’d been… less than thrilled. 

Things were still tense, even a year later. It seemed every time her mother looked at her it was with hurt and confusion, and her father? He didn’t really look at her at all anymore, just through her. She didn’t blame them for how they felt but it still hurt all the same, to be looked at by her own parent’s as if she were a stranger, or a ghost. That was partly why she’d agreed to organize the attic for them, to get away from the looks, her mother’s sighs and the awkward tension that settled over them every time the three of them were in the same room together. So here she was, picking her way carefully through dust and furniture in an attempt to get to the center of the room, so she could see the whole of the mess and Merlin’s beard was it a mess. It seemed like this attic hadn’t been properly sorted for years. Still, it gave her something to do besides think, and Hermione was happy to keep her aging father from throwing his back out any more than he already had.

It had only been a few years since the war, just a few short years and already everything had changed. Harry and Ginny were dating, though how happily was up for debate, and he was working in the Auror’s office with Ron. Hermione sighed and nudged a box to the side with the toe of her sneaker, looking for evidence of mice. She’d really thought she and Ron might make it there for a while. They’d dated rather intensely after the war, and, for a bit, everything had gone well. It was after they settled, after they relearned how to be normal, that things took a nosedive. Arguments broke out, initially civil, but quickly turning vicious and sometimes cruel. They forgot how to understand each other, how to communicate. It got harder and harder for Hermione to reconcile and forgive Ron’s flaws, and it finally just broke when he asked her to abandon her parents. It had taken nearly three and a half years of searching, but she’d finally managed to find them, settled here in the states and not Australia. When she invited Ron to come with her, hoping he’d be there for emotional support, he looked her dead in the eye and asked her why? 

Why go get them? Why give them their memories back? Why bring them back to England? They were happy, weren’t they? Let them live their lives. They were doing just fine. She’d been so floored, so stunned, so hurt that she’d flung a hex at him, didn’t remember what, and stormed out, moving out of their flat and making her way here immediately after. They hadn’t spoken since, though Harry occasionally mentioned him in their exchanged letters. She couldn’t say she regretted what happened with Ron. She’d always love him, but she’d likely never be in love with him again, if she even was to begin with, or if their ultimately doomed relationship would just be the results of years together and the rush of battle. 

Looking around at the boxes and crates, the tarp covered furniture and old bookcases, the chests and tables, the trash bags full of old clothes, and the matted cobwebs, Hermione sighed, lifted her wand, and got to work, happy for a distraction. Levitating and cleaning, chasing out mice and squirrels that had settled into nooks and crannies, brushing away cobwebs and clearing dust; if she hadn’t had her wand it would have been a full day’s work, maybe more, but with her wand she was able to get things ordered and straightened out in just a few hours, giving her plenty of time to actually dig in and sort through the stored junk. With furniture neatly lined up, old bookcases pressed back into walls and crates and boxes stacked neatly it was time to get down to proper work. Another hour or so in, and Hermione was up to her elbows in faded, aged parchment and paper, and was getting so irritated and frazzled she was this close to taking a break and getting a bite to eat when a small leather bound book caught her eye.   
It, along with all the other papers she was currently sorting through, had come out of an old steamer trunk so covered in dust she doubted anyone had sorted through it since it had been stored away up here. The book was small, the cover blank and the leather cracking and dry, bound only by a thin string of leather wrapped twice around the outside and knotted. Settling back onto a box she’d been using as a makeshift chair, Hermione picked and tugged at the knot, momentarily forgetting her wand, and, as gently as she could given the dry, frail pages, pried the little book open to find it filled with the neat, slanting script of one Margaret Carter. 

Propping a foot up on the box, Hermione frowned and gently flipped through the pages, looking for ink that wasn’t so faded it couldn’t be read. Hermione had only met her maternal Great Aunt Peggy a handful of times. Great Aunt Peggy lived in Washington and Hermione had only visited when she was young, so she hadn’t seen her in years but those few meetings were enough to paint a rather solid portrait of her Aunt. The woman was determined, kind, but a spitfire, tough as nails and wicked smart, and had always intimidated Hermione a little with her sharp eyes and war stories. Many women had served in the military during World War II but few in her capacity, and here was a woman, who Hermione was related to, that had served her country as an intelligence officer. Great Aunt Peggy had never told Hermione much about the war, and even Hermione hadn’t been curious enough to ask too many questions of this proud, elegant woman, and for a while she’d thought she’d missed her chance to get to know her better, particularly since Hermione hadn’t seen or contacted her for years. Now though, in Hermione’s hands, was a direct line to her Great Aunt, a direct connection she may have never had because of her own limitations, and it was dated 1942, right in the thick of World War II. 

Hermione made her way through the diary, skimming passages that hadn’t yet faded with time, and carefully reading the ones she could make out properly. Hermione was thrilled to find her Great Aunt had always been a spitfire, and didn’t waste her time mooning over handsome soldiers, but concerned herself mostly with her work. Her dedication was admirable, though there were a few things in the entries that didn’t entirely make sense. Mentioned several times throughout the book was something called the Super Soldier Project, and then Serum. Hermione, irritated at not knowing something, kept reading in hopes of finding more, but most of the diary was too faded and aged in places, so she turned to the piles of papers and files she’d found locked in the chest with the diary, and started to sort through them, intending to find more, when a knock startled her. 

“Hermione?”

“Mum? Over here.” 

Her mother appeared around the stack of crates Hermione had organized and labeled in the center of the room, smiling in bemusement “Hermione it’s almost dinner time. Haven’t you finished yet?” 

Was it that late already? Hermione looked around and found, through the small circular window across the room, that it was dark outside, and, at one point or another, without even realizing it, Hermione had lit her wand to bathe the attic in a warm glow. 

“Oh, no not quite. I’ve just got to sort through these last few trunks, and I’ll be finished.”

Her mother smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes “Well. That can wait until tomorrow. Come down for dinner. I’ve made lamb chops.” 

Hermione was itching to get back to her Great Aunt’s diaries, and to see if the other steamer trunks might have any more information, but with a low rumble and a sudden ache, her stomach announced it was far too hungry to continue like this. Stowing the papers in the trunk, the diary on top, Hermione followed her mother down to the dining room to suffer through another silent, awkward dinner. Her father didn’t ask how the attic was coming along, and her mother stared fixedly at her plate through the entire meal, making eye contact only be accident. The tension in the room was palatable, and, finally, Hermione had had enough of it, and left, fixing herself a cup of tea and returning to the attic to get back to work. Her mother didn’t even chastise her for failing to excuse herself. Her parents were like totally different people; Great Aunt Peggy’s diaries, however, more than made up for the disappointing relationship that had developed between Hermione and her parents.

The Super Soldier Serum, from what Hermione could put together from the paper work and the diary, had been intended to give an average, Muggle soldier immense power and strength, as well as a regenerative healing ability and enhancements to the soldier’s overall potential: their intelligence, their loyalty and strength of character, their entire person enhanced to their greatest potential, inside and out. It was astounding to think about, really, what could happen to someone who took this serum. Unfortunately the first test, on Johann Schmidt, led to disastrous results and side effects, and the group nearly abandoned the project, but the scientists working on the project apparently made a few adjustments and made another attempt. Unfortunately, that’s where her Great Aunt’s diary ended, her handwriting tiny and cramped in the margins from her attempt to include everything, and Hermione couldn’t find any more specifics on the project, and nearly gave up finding anything else altogether until she opened the next steamer trunk and found the thing stacked from bottom to lid with journals and diaries similar to the one she’d just finished.

They were out of order, naturally, and Hermione spent hours getting them all organized and in order, but when she finally did she was thrilled to find her Great Aunt had picked up right where she left off on the great success of the Serum when it was used on a soldier named Steve Rogers, and, for the next three or four diaries, he was the primary subject. As sensible as her Great Aunt was, Steve Rogers, at least the image her Great Aunt painted in her diaries, had clearly swept her off her feet. He was, according to this, sweet and loyal, patriotic to a fault, respectful and dedicated, a bit naïve yet endearing. Perfect, really, the complete Prince Charming. That Great Aunt Peggy mentioned more than a couple times how handsome Steve was made Hermione wonder just how honest this portrayal was, and if, perhaps, she’d been a bit blinded by a particularly intense crush. 

Hermione knew that feeling well. For a few years Hermione had only seen Ron’s good traits. His loyalty and dedication to his friends, and his protectiveness of Harry and herself, his occasional cleverness and stubborn pride, something that’d been attractive to her at one point, and his sweetness… she’d talked herself into forgetting his flaws. His laziness and stubbornness, no longer attractive, as well as his inherent, though fairly unintentional, close mindedness and racism, as well as his absolute determination to have the same, large family that he grew up in, had ended their relationship, not just succinctly, but permanently. Not even their shared history, the war and years at Hogwarts, had been enough incentive for them to maintain civility and contact. Harry was the go between, as usual, but this time the position was a permanent one. 

Just the thought of Harry had Hermione suddenly itching to write to him, itching to tell someone who loved and cared for her about her new discoveries, particularly someone who might be just as interested. Harry’s family was gone, and he’d never get the chance to know them except through second-hand stories and passed down photographs, so if anyone could understand her desire to get to know her family, particularly when her parents were so distant, it would be Harry. She stood, stretched, put all but an armful of the diaries away, and made her way out to her room. The house was dark, an illuminated clock read three, and Hermione could just hear snores from beyond her parent’s door. They hadn’t even come in to say goodnight to her, or to remind her to go to bed, something they would have done before. 

With a sudden flood of emotion Hermione remembered all the nights her father would bring a steaming cup of tea to her in the middle of the night while she read, and the mornings her mother would let her sleep in, a book pressed to her chest and covers tucked up to her chin. Biting back tears, Hermione rushed to her room and shut the door, practically throwing herself at her desk and nearly tearing the parchment she was writing on in her haste to write to Harry. She desperately missed her friends, their unity and sense of security, and, for the first time ever, she felt lonelier without them than with her parents. 

And that was how this entire situation began.


	2. Man on a Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Gets Hermione's letter and things start happening in ways he could not have possibly foreseen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable entities belong to their respective owners. Independence-Day and I are making no profit off of this story.  
> Hello and welcome back! Thanks to everyone who stopped by to leave a review or add the story. Jon and I are thrilled and happy to have you!  
> Now, this chapter was written by Jon, though I added a scene or line here and there, and, frankly, he’s making me look bad, folks, so don’t be disappointed when the next chapter isn’t as awesome as this one is.   
> Thanks for stopping by, and please, enjoy! and make sure to leave a review!

Chapter 2 -- Man on a Mission

A gentle, but persistent tapping at the window caught Harry’s attention as he lay in bed. He’d been there for some time, hands folded behind his head as he stared up toward the ceiling, reflecting on the night’s events. It had been a habit of his for as long as he could remember, waking up before dawn, and even though his life had settled down considerably in the intervening years, it was a habit he hadn’t been quite able to break. Looking to the window with a confused frown Harry noticed a great horned owl staring intently at him with a letter attached to its leg.

The owl tilted its head slightly as it caught his eye then lightly tapped at the window again. Harry rose quietly and put on his glasses, house robe and slippers, careful not to disturb the red head still asleep next to him before opening the window and allowing the owl entrance.

“Good morning there. What do you have for me?” Harry whispered quietly to the owl. The owl turned its bright yellow eyes to meet his before carefully extending a leg with a note of parchment attached. Harry gently removed the letter and pocketed it into his robe.

“Thank you. Are you hungry? I don’t have any owl feed on me at here but I can get something from the kitchen if you like?” Harry asked. The owl hooted in appreciation but shook its head in the negative. It nipped at Harry’s fingers as Harry gave it a soft pat before it hopped out of the window sill and took flight. Harry smiled as he closed the window, shivering due to the early morning draft. He pulled the letter from his pocket as he snuck out of the bedroom to let the fiery redhead sleep a bit more.

And she was fiery, as if last night’s argument hadn’t hammered that point home loud and clear. As passionate in her argument as she was in everything else, that passion was what had drew him toward her and it was a character trait that defined her, and really it could be intoxicating. But Merlin's beard could it also drive him nuts! They’d been arguing again; the same argument they’d been having for the last year. But no matter how they tried to get past it they always came back to their current impasse.

He loved her in every way and relished her presence in the house. Every room he walked into with the scent of her perfume, every loose strand of red hair, every brush of her skin and glimpse of her passing from the corner of his eye was a source of joy and contentment. He knew, to the very core of his being, that he loved Ginny Weasley, but he wasn’t quite ready yet to take that final plunge. Despite how much he wanted to. Something was holding him back, keeping his guard and reserve up, but it was something he wasn’t quite ready to explore yet. There was still work to be done before he allowed himself to…well…..

He quietly slunk away, taking care not to wake her, red hair spread on the pillows like a crown as she peacefully dreamed.

“Good Morning Master Harry.” A diminutive figure stated as soon as Harry closed the door to the master bedroom, breaking him from his train of though.

“Morning Kreacher.” Harry greeted the house elf as he drew his wand “Lumos” A warm light illuminated the hallway.

“Does young Master Harry wish for anything this morning?” Kreacher asked with a quizzical tilt of his head and genuine warmth to his voice.

“Tea would be good, Kreacher. I will take it in my study. After that, start on breakfast as I expect Ginny will be awake soon. The usual.”

Kreacher bowed again, “At once Master Harry.” The old house elf turned and gingerly made his way to the kitchen. Harry watched him go for a moment before turning to in the hallway toward his personal study.

Harry’s current study, his office away from the office, was a simple study albeit one rather eloquently decorated. In fact it was the old Black family room, depicting the tree of ‘The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black’ and all those who bore the name. Here and there were smudges that were once burnt faces of blood traitors or those who never lived up to the family’s philosophy of what a proper pureblood aristocrat should be. Harry had kept the tree intact and had restored the faces of those scratched off the blood line (an unexpected perk from Sirius having named him his Heir of State, as well as his familial link by blood). He had done so as a reminder and to honor Sirius. The Black family was, for all intents and purposes, destroyed. With both Sirius and Regulus dying before siring sons, the name of Family Black would fall to the banal of history. Though Harry was a Black through his paternal Grandmother, ultimately he was a Potter first and foremost. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t come here and appreciate all those who came before him and his link to the storied old family; in particular that most important link.

Harry sat down in his padded chair behind his desk with relish before returning his attention to the letter. It was from Hermione, as if the sharp, concise and familiar script of her handwriting hadn’t clued him in to that fact already. She’d taken a sabbatical from the Ministry last year once she got a positive bead on her parents. Her intention had been to reverse the memory charm and bring them back to Britain now that the threat of Voldemort and the Death Eaters had passed.

Harry snorted at that.

Rather than finding them in Australia, where she’d sent them, she’d found them in New York instead, having gone there almost straight away. How 'that' had happened was something that caused the Obliviator Department to scratch their head in some confusion, before coming to the conclusion that using an Obliviate coupled with a false memory charm had caused some…quirks in the spells to manifest. They assured Hermione that it was nothing serious, as such thing had happened before from time to time in the past. Harry was liable to trust their judgment on this, as they were the experts, though Hermione had remained hesitant and concerned for a while.

What was supposed to have been a holiday had dragged on to a month, then two, before Hermione was forced to admit that there were ‘complications’ that prevented her from returning immediately with her parents. He was sympathetic, of course, but her boss at the Department of Mysteries was considerably less so. In the end she had taken the sabbatical stating ‘family reasons’ and had not been seen since, though she still kept in touch.

“Master Harry, your morning tea.” Kreacher said as he placed the cup of tea and saucer down at the corner of Harry’s desk.

“Thanks, Kreacher,” Harry said as he took the cup and carefully sipped from the hot liquid. Smiling in satisfaction he placed the cup on the saucer. “Excellent, as usual.”

“Kreacher is most happy to serve.” The old house elf smiled and bowed. “Kreacher will now start on breakfast and wishes to inform Master Harry that Mistress Ginny is awake.”

Harry acknowledged with a nod as Kreacher turned to leave and vanished off to the kitchen. The old manor had become brighter since Harry had taken ownership, though he had inherited a fortune from his father and God-father, he worked at the Ministry as an Auror. His moderate wages didn't go far but a bit of creativity and Ginny's eye for a good bargain had let them turn it into a home. And he was far more inclined to listen to her than to spend money needlessly on frivolous extravagance. Still, he was impressed with that they had accomplished together. They had opened up the gloomy curtains, gave it paler colors, brighter carpets, better light fittings to turn it into something far less oppressive. The furnishings were traditional, both Ginny and Harry liked the older look, cherry woods, reds, rich colors for the chairs and sofa to contrast the walls and carpets. He had to admit Ginny knew her stuff, it was almost a different place. 

Almost.

Look closely though and there was still the character of the old home. Many of the ornaments, the pictures, the heavy Grandfather clock and carved bed, among other bits and baubles, could still be found scattered through the house, left by Harry to both maintain the house’s history. It was his home, no, their home, but beneath that rested layers of tradition and stories and lives he could not and would not disturb or dishonor. The bricks and mortar were the same as his flesh and blood, in a way it was as much family as a dwelling and its walls spoke of the legacy of his lost ancestors, whispering their stories and standing firmly behind him. It belonged to him, and he belonged to it.

Harry turned his attention back to the letter and eagerly opened it. Holding the letter in one hand to read, he grabbed his cup of tea in the other, enjoying the refreshing liquid as he went over his latest communique with his distant friend.

There was the usual pleasantries, how was he? Were he and Ginny doing well? How were things at the Ministry? She was doing well, enjoying the weather in New York and itching to get back to work. Then she went into the heart of her letter and for the next fifteen minutes Harry read slowly and carefully as Hermione poured her heart out to him.

There was nothing particularly surprising in it at first. Harry had suspected that the complications, as Hermione had so delicately put it, had been her trying to mend fences with her parents, who had taken the news of what she had done quite badly. But as he read, the tone of her letter began to change from a mournful melancholy to one of brisk excitement. She sounded like the old Hermione again, eager to share about a particularly exciting discovery she’d made. It was a welcome change.

As Harry read on, he found himself just as confused as he’d been back in Hogwarts when Hermione would go on about her various discoveries and plans. She was thrilled, ecstatic – he could practically hear her gushing through the letter – and Harry was, well, rather nonplussed about the whole thing, really. To say Hermione had a knack for this sort of discovery would be a bit of an understatement. If it was out there to be found, trust that Hermione Granger would find it. And while it did make for some interesting reading, Harry just wasn’t convinced of its importance.

He’d lived among Muggles growing up, but his exposure to that world was limited and skewed by living with the Dursleys, so maybe he just didn’t get what all the fuss was about. They hadn’t exactly been the most loving or informative of guardians, which was perhaps being a bit more generous than they deserved, and as soon as Harry came of age his Aunt and Uncle were quick to be rid of him.

Dudley was a different matter, as he’d made attempts to reach out to Harry. They corresponded by owl post, much to Harry’s amusement and Dudley’s annoyance, and occasionally met at a mutual café they both frequented when time permitted. They talked about family, their times growing up, often with Dudley apologizing for certain events, and chatted about their plans for the future. Dudley seemed keen on making amends and forming some sort of relationship with him…and Harry wasn’t entirely disagreeable to the idea. After everything Harry had been through in the last few years, holding a grudge against Dudley Dursley seemed both trivial and beneath him.

Harry shook off that odd moment of introspection and then focused on the contents of Hermione’s letter with a more clinical eye. The idea that Muggles could create something as amazing as this ‘Super Soldier Serum’ was surprising, but nothing Harry considered revolutionary or particularly threatening. He was a wizard; after all, some Super Soldier Serum wasn’t likely to cause him much trouble. And while it made for interesting reading, it wasn’t something he considered a concern, particularly since he had enough to be concerned about. Of more importance to him was when he would get one of his best friends back home, and Hermione hadn’t mentioned a time to expect her back.

A gentle tapping at the door pulled him from his thoughts as he looked up to the smiling red head peeking in on him, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes “Morning luv. Bathrooms all yours. Kreacher says breakfast will be ready in twenty.”

Harry felt warm contentment settle into his belly at the sight of Ginny, but was slightly disappointed at her strained greeting. It seemed the ghost of their argument from the previous night would cast its shadow over them this morning, much to his disappointment. “Thanks. I’ll be down shortly.”

He got up, letter still in hand and returned to their bedroom. He set the letter down on a convenient night stand and then went into the bathroom to complete his morning ritual. Fifteen minutes later he came out freshly showered, shaven and dressed in his Auror uniform.  
He moved to the kitchen at a sedate pace as he took in the sights. The house was quiet this early, and as Harry walked into the main living room, he stopped as he took a moment to let his gaze settle on the portraits on a nearby wall. The wall of Heroes. Faces greeted him with smiles, but said nothing as they gazed at him. Familiar faces of those who had lost their lives in the last war; Fred Weasley, Sirius Black, Remus and Nymphadora, Mad Eye Moody, Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. They all gazed at him with looks of respect and solemn nods, though Fred appeared to be trying to set a water pail over Snape’s picture, much to Dumbledore’s amusement.   
His eyes lingered on each for a moment before he sighed and moved into the kitchen. He kissed Ginny lightly and sat down next to her.

“Sleep well?” Harry asked as he poured himself a cup of tea.

Ginny smiled “Yes. You? I noticed you were already out when I woke up.”

Harry handed over the letter from Hermione and then began making a plate. He would need his strength today if his leads panned out.

Ginny sat back in her chair and read the letter as Harry dug into his plate with aplomb.

Ginny clicked her tongue in disappointment, “Still having trouble with her parents I see.”

Harry nodded and sighed, “I think she’ll be gone for a while yet. It doesn’t seem like she’s having much success.”

“She can’t stay away from work much longer, Harry.” Ginny replied. “If she does, McMillan will be forced to let her go. The only reason they haven’t done it already is because she’s Hermione Granger.”

Harry nodded in resignation, “I know.”

Ginny turned her attention from the letter and glared at him, “And you can’t keep asking them to give her more time.”

Harry returned her glare in equal measure “I 'know'.”

Ginny pursed her lips and returned to reading the letter and then frowned. “What is a ‘Super Soldier Serum’?”

Harry smirked, “Read on. Hermione goes into quite a bit of detail about it.”

Ginny kept reading and then lowered the letter. “Interesting but hardly important, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” Harry admitted, “but it’s been a while since she was that excited by anything.”

Ginny snorted, “I know. Still, I wish her parents would just get over it and forgive her already. I don’t get why they’re so upset.”

“Well, I’d imagine getting oblivated and then having your mind altered by someone you love and trusted without asking your permission would leave one feeling violated and betrayed.” Harry replied blandly.

“She did it for their own good;” Ginny huffed, “They’re Muggles, Harry. You know what the Death Eaters would have done if they’d gotten a hold of them.”

Harry’s eyes took on a distant look for a moment before hardening, “I have a good idea.” Harry took a deep breath to calm himself, “Can we not do this so early?”

Ginny glared at him for a moment, then her features softened “You’re right. I don’t want to fight again.”

They ate in tense silence until they finished their breakfast. Harry was on his second cup of tea before finally deciding to break the silence.

“Are you going to visit your mother today?”

“Yes. She wants to go to Diagon Alley and do some shopping and then visit George. And spend some quality time with us.”

“Asking why she doesn’t have a staple of grandchildren yet?” Harry smirked.

“George is a committed bachelor. He has no intention of getting married anytime soon, much less having children.”

“Bill and Fleur sort of set the bar, eh?”

“Yes, and they plan another. But you know Mum. She won’t be happy unless she has more to dote over and spoil.”

It had been a source of amusement at first. The Weasleys had always been sort of oddballs by Wizarding standards by having a large family rather the smaller ones with direct lines of succession. In that regard much of the pureblood aristocracy looked down on them as being only a step above Muggles. But the Weasleys had persisted and enjoyed a large family full of love.Now though, it was becoming a source of tension between Harry and Ginny. Molly had been putting pressure on the two to hurry up and get married and start on a family, but Harry wasn’t ready yet.

“Yeah, I know.” Harry said. “Isn’t George still dating Angelina Johnson?”

“Yep, but they’re taking things slow. Much like we are…”

An uncomfortable pause.

“Yeah…so….your mother still sending howlers to Ron?” Harry asked trying to divert attention away from what was looking to be another impending argument.

“At least once a week.” Ginny snickered. “Serves him right it does.”

Harry wasn’t exactly in a position to defend his longtime friend. So he didn’t.

“So, when does pre-season training camp begin?” Harry asked.

“Another three weeks.” Ginny said. “We have a good team, and we think we might have a shot at the Quidditch cup this year.”

Harry frowned. “Three weeks? I thought pre-season camp didn’t start for five weeks?”

Ginny grimaced, “The pre… pre-season training. Sorta like what Wood did back at Hogwarts. Train earlier, train harder, train longer. Keep running plays till you see them in your sleep. Captain Jones is cut from the same cloth as Wood. She’s determined to get the cup this year before she decides to take maternity leave to start a family.”

Back to that again.

“Well, I need to get going.”

“Are you going to be home at a decent hour tonight?” Ginny asked, a hint of something stern in her voice.

“I should be home by six.” Harry said rising from the table and kissing her gently.

“Bye, then.” Ginny waved as Harry made for the main foyer and out the door and apparated into the chilly morning air.

 

*****

 

Ministry of Magic  
Central London.

 

Harry arrived at the Atrium with little fanfare. It wouldn’t be for another thirty minutes before people started coming in to work, meaning it was relatively safe for Harry to Apparate straight into the Atrium without worrying he would Apparate into someone. In the intervening years since the second war with Voldemort, the Atrium hadn’t changed much; black carven stone denoted the interior walls of the Ministry with red brick mortar outlining various offices on multiple levels, with a view of the Atrium itself. Fireplaces lined either sides of the wall, occasionally lighting up and depositing someone traveling via floo network, and up ahead was The Fountain of Magical Brethren, having been 'lovingly' restored to all its prewar glory, no expense spared, despite how badly the Ministry had been trashed, thank you very much.

As Harry drew closer to the fountain he couldn’t help but smile as he spotted a familiar figure through the thin crowd sitting at the fountains edge, reading a paper. Vibrant, neatly cut red hair framed light skin and blue eyes that were glued to a newspaper and nearly oblivious to everything else.

Harry chuckled; Ron had hardly changed much in the intervening years. He’d finally stopped growing, and he’d filled out a little bit more, mostly muscle, but he was still the same friend Harry had always known. His financial situation had also improved, as he was currently buying into the Georges shop as an equal but silent partner, though occasionally he helped out more actively when George needed it. His grooming skills and taste of clothing were also markedly improved, though Harry attributed that more to Hermione beating it through his thick skull than any motivation on Ron’s part. Even after their breakup it seemed to have stuck. Gone were the ragged hand-me-down robes and in their place was clothing more suited to a man coming into quite a bit of money. In the years since the war had ended, Ron had found his legs and had quite a bit going for him.

Then he and Hermione had imploded.

As Harry got closer he suppressed a scowl at what he saw his friend reading: today’s edition of The Daily Prophet.

AVENGERS: FACT OR MUGGLE FICTION?  
PENNED BY Rita Skeeter.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed good naturedly, “Honestly Ron, I still don’t know why you read that garbage.”

Ron lowered the paper and smirked, “Says you mister ‘Savior of the Wizarding World’.”

Harry returned the smirk as Ron folded the paper and stood up. “Ah, so that’s what they’ve been spouting about me lately, is it? Before that it was…a lot of very unflattering things. Besides, I seem to remember you standing with me through all of it.”

“And Hermione,” Ron said evenly, but Harry could sense the undercurrent of turmoil in his voice.

“And Hermione. And neither of you two get half the credit you deserve.” Harry added. He decided to change the subject, “So, the Prophet still going on about what happened in New York?”

“It’s all they’ve been able to talk about for the past four months.” Ron sighed in frustration. The two turned away from the Atrium and began making their way to the DMLE level of the Ministry. “I kinda get it Harry, an alien attack. I mean, real aliens. It’s not something any of us ever thought about, ya know?”

“Never crossed my mind,” Harry replied.

The two turned a corner and moved down a hallway through light traffic. 

“Exactly Harry, but how you suppose the Muggles were able to beat them back like they did? Or even respond to the attack as fast as they did? There’s talk of very little else.”

“Exactly,” Harry responded, “they’re locked in meetings all day talking about it, trying to form ‘contingency’ plans in case we come under attack. And they’re getting nothing done in the process. It’s complete rubbish. The last case the DMLE closed successfully was Thorfinn Rowle just a week before the mess in New York happened and we haven’t had a good lead since. There’s still more than half of Voldemort’s inner circle still out there running free, doing Merlin knows what.”

“I hear you, mate.” Ron agreed. “Seamus and Dean feel the same way, but we don’t have the manpower to chase all the leads we do have. Besides, something solid will turn up soon. It always does. Or…” At this Ron began to look around to make sure no one was listening in and then whispered. “Or maybe you could put some pressure on your source to give us something?”

Harry gave Ron a dark glare at that question.

“Right, shutting up now, mate.” Ron quickly amended.

They arrived at the elevator and punched in the number for their level. As the gate closed Ron fidgeted slightly and then looked at Harry uncomfortably,  
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Hermione?”

Harry suppressed a sigh. He’d been expecting this. He fished out the note from his pocket and handed it to Ron. Hermione hadn’t given Harry any special instructions not to let Ron see her letters and it was a tradition of theirs’ to share their letters with the other two. No sooner had Harry handed over the letter that Ron began tearing into it with rapt interest.

The lift opened on their level and Harry stepped out, grabbing Ron by the arm and carefully guiding him to their shared office through the surprisingly crowded hallway.

“Morning Harry, Ron” Neville greeted the pair as soon as they stepped in. Seated next to him, hidden behind yet another edition of the Daily Prophet, were two figures that waved absently, but otherwise seemed too engrossed in their reading.

Terrible manners that.

“Morning Neville, Dean, Seamus” Harry dropped his bag at his desk and went to them to see what had grabbed their attention.

It was as he guessed. It was yesterday’s edition of the Prophet. It showed a picture of six individuals standing back to back in a circle; the first was what could only be described as green troll roaring a challenge at the creatures around him. The second was a determined looking archer drawing an arrow from his quiver, the third was of a tall blonde Nordic man with a red cape brandishing a deceptively nondescript hammer that sang with mystical power. The forth was of beautiful woman in a skintight jumpsuit reloading a muggle gun and looking fierce. The fifth was of a man in star spangled outfit and shield who exuded a commanding presence, clearly the team’s leader. And finally landing next to him was man encased in metal, proudly wearing the red and gold of Gryffindor. All of them looked strong, resolute and prepared to take on the alien army by themselves.  
And Harry couldn’t help but admit the picture was a welcome change from the Prophets usual images showing Muggles as witless idiots.

WHO ARE THE AVENGERS?  
PENNED by Rita Skeeter.

“Bloody… can’t you guys give it a rest already?” Harry huffed in minor irritation, “Four months now and all the Prophet can talk about are these Avengers. It’s almost like they’ve forgotten our own problems.”

Dean’s head popped up from over the paper, “It’s big news, Harry. How often do you hear about Muggles doing amazing stuff like this? It’s fascinating.”

“Ron’s got this morning’s paper, trust me they’re already starting to question everything about these Avengers.” Harry said. 

He knew exactly how the Daily Prophet operated from brutal experience. They would spend an inordinate amount of time building you up and then just as suddenly they’d start tearing you down. After the war the Prophet, their reporters and editors, had remained largely untouched by the Ministry’s purges of those who were suspected of being sympathetic to the Death Eaters and their cause. The Prophet had laid low for about a year and a half after Voldemort’s fall, but after that they apparently decided the storm had passed and it was business as usual.

Seamus and Dean perked up, “Oi Ron, can we get that paper when you’re finished?” Seamus asked.

Ron’s head snapped up distractedly, “Oh…ah…yeah sure here you go.” He grabbed the paper and tossed it to Seamus who caught it with a smile before he opened it up. Dean seamed torn between reading his current paper or abandoning it to read along with Seamus.

“Morning Harry,” Two feminine voices spoke in perfect harmony.

Harry turned and smiled at the sight of Susan Bones and Parvati Patil, “Susan, Parvati; how are you both?”

Parvati smiled, “Good, and you Harry?”

“Same.” Harry turned to Susan “And you, Susan?”

“Good, all things considered” She handed Harry a stack of reports. “I bring you joyous news from Dawlish, and gifts.”

“Thank you.”

Harry grabbed the reports and began thumbing through them; intently reading some while skimming over others. They were a series of reports on the DMLE’s current investigations into the whereabouts of the remaining Death Eaters, their activities and if they were recruiting. So far Harry wasn’t liking what he was reading, because right now it was adding up to a whole lot of nothing.

“Ah….Harry?” Ron spoke up from his desk next to Harry’s.

“Yes, Ron?” Harry asked absently even as he kept reading through the reports.

“What’s a ‘Super Soldier Serum?”

That comment grabbed everyone’s attention.

“What was that Ron?” Seamus asked.

“Hermione’s notes mention some sort of Muggle potion called the ‘Super Soldier Serum’, it’s kinda scary reading actually, what this potion can do.”

“Neville, Dean and Seamus leaned in clearly intrigued while Susan and Parvati shot Ron dirty looks.

“And what are 'you' doing reading her letter anyway?” Susan scowled.

Harry held up a hand to forestall another argument. “Not this again…please?”

The girls had never quite forgiven Ron for the nasty breakup between him and Hermione, placing the blame entirely on his shoulders. Harry thought they were being a bit unfair to him, but that didn’t excuse Ron from his share of the blame either. Ron and Hermione had never been right for each other, a fact that Harry had come to realize only after the fact. Growing up he had seen they were diametrically opposite in nearly everything, yet they had gravitated to one another growing up. Then when the war was over it had completely fallen apart; and rather publicly at that.

“We aren’t going to rehash this old argument. It’s a waste of time,” Harry said firmly and eyed each of them individually. The look on his face brokered no dissent. “Is that clear?”

Everyone mumbled in the affirmative and Susan muttered something that sounded almost like an apology, but was too muffled for Harry to make out.

It was Neville who got them back on track.

“So, ah, Ron, what about this Super Muggle Potion?”

Harry beat him to the punch, “It’s a muggle formula that gives the person who takes it super strength, speed, stamina and an increased healing factor.”

Seamus and Dean traded eager looks “Wicked!”

Neville looked very thoughtful, but didn’t reply.

Susan and Parvati looked doubtful and eventually it was Parvati who voiced that doubt.

“How can they do that without magic? It’s impossible.”

“Is she sure the Muggles actually made it, and not a potion they just stole?” Susan added. “Cause we do have potions that grant temporary boosts to strength, healing and the like.”

Harry shook his head, “Positive. Besides those potions affect only one attribute at a time and not all at once, and not permanently. Which is what that Muggle serum does. No, Hermione was positive it’s a muggle creation and not something magical.”

“But how? Muggles can’t do stuff like this.” Susan asked.

Harry shrugged, “Who knows? Can we change the subject to something more productive, like these reports on the Death Eaters?”

Harry turned to see Ron giving Hermione’s letter a look he couldn’t quite place, as if his mind had latched onto a tangent of thought that none of them had. Harry had seen that look before usually when Ron interjected with one of his rare moments of keen insight. Harry expected him to say something or add to the subject of the Miracle Muggle Potion, but he said nothing. Instead he folded the letter carefully and handed it back to Harry.

“I’m with Harry on this. Let’s get to work.”

And that’s exactly what they did. The hours seemed tick away like minutes as they followed up through reports and leads, but nothing came up that actually warranted a full investigation. It was frustrating, as Harry was itching for any sort of progress.

Just after the Battle of Hogwarts the Ministry’s DMLE had ceased all operations against the Death Eaters for the very practical reason that the Auror office had virtually ceased to exist. The Ministry hadn’t gone after Voldemort’s inner circle simply because they couldn’t.

Over the course of the next year the Ministry had spent that time rebuilding itself into something that could simply function. Harry remembered those days. The days of optimism that they would change things for the better. Kingsley had done a remarkable job in not just rebuilding the Ministry, but also improving it. He had removed many laws on the books that no longer applied or simply made any sense. In particular, he had made life far easier for Halfbloods and Muggleborns everywhere, by slashing laws designed to limit opportunities in business and government long denied to them.

It had made Kingsley very popular in many circles. But it also made him very unpopular in others. And Harry, Ron and Hermione had been with him every step of the way to carry out his vision. 

In that first year Harry, Ron and a number of other former students had volunteered to join the Aurors. The once proud organization had been gutted to almost nothing during Voldemort’s grip over the Ministry. 

Given a condensed and rigorous training program under the tutelage of John Dawlish they had formed the backbone of a new Aurorcorp; though much smaller in terms of size, it was never the less one far younger, stronger more aggressive and eager to hunt down Death Eaters.

The next three years would see these young but tested men and women have unparalleled success by capturing almost half of Voldemort’s inner circle, in addition to nearly all his mid-level lieutenants, financial and political backers. But they still hadn’t caught the other half of Voldemort’s inner circle: Avery, Dohlohov, Mulciber, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Nott, Travers and many others.

They were out there, and Harry was determined to get them.

It was just after noon, and the team was about to head out for lunch when there was a knock at the door. Standing there was the head of the DMLE John Dawlish.

“Harry, how are you and your team coming along?”

Harry rose and shook Dawlish’s hand in a firm grip. The two were by no means close or even friends, but they did work well together. Dawlish had taken the position as head of the DMLE due to the fact there was no one left for the job. As a field Auror he had a somewhat better than mediocre career, but in the intervening years he had proven himself a capable administrator as well, if not an overly creative one. He had managed to rebuild the Aurors into something respectable and gave Harry wide latitude to run his field team as he saw fit to spearhead the hunt for the remaining Death Eaters. Dawlish administrated while Harry led. It proved to be a very amicable relationship.

“John” Harry greeted, “Things are going…positively nowhere.” Harry replied bluntly.

Dawlish nodded as if he had expected that answer. 

“Before you head out for lunch, I’d like a moment.”

Harry nodded and turned back to face his team. “I’ll meet you all in the Atrium shortly.”

The team shared a glance and quickly filed out with Ron being the last.

Harry and John began walking down the corridor at a sedate pace.

Harry began without preamble, “You don’t have to say it. Yaxley doesn’t know anything more than what he’s already given us. I figured this out ages ago.” 

Dawlish’s impassive features didn’t change one iota “No, he’s doesn’t. We’ve pretty much exhausted that source of intelligence with the capture of Thorfinn Rowle. By the way, if you haven’t already, extend my congratulations to Auror Weasley for singlehandedly taking him down.”

Ron had been having a particularly bad day that week. Earlier that morning he had received yet another howler from his mother to start his day. After putting up with Parvati and Susans’ snarky and demeaning commentary throughout most of the afternoon, not to mention a run in with his sister had left Ron in a highly irritable and foul mood. Harry was just about to order Ron home to cool off when they got the message that Thorfinn Rowle had been located. The team had promptly apparated within minutes of getting the news. Upon arriving at their destination they were disappointed to find nothing, but Harry’s instincts told him to not give up. The group had split up into two man teams and had spread out to cover more ground. Oddly rather than team up with Ron like he normally did, Harry had instead assigned Neville to him.

It had been dark out, late afternoon turning to early evening with a thunderstorm pouring rain by the bucket loads. Conditions on the ground were absolutely horrible, so it could be forgiven when the team had spread themselves a little too far apart during their search. The first realization Ron had that something was wrong was when Neville dropped face first into a puddle of water and didn’t move; hit in the back by a bludgeoning spell that, thankfully, didn’t kill him.

Instinctively Ron dove for cover and barely avoided taking a spell to the face. Rowle had shown himself then, as big and intimidating as he’d ever been, almost as big as Hagrid. He taunted Ron with how he was the weak link of the golden trio, the hanger on, the one who would always be in Potter’s shadow. And Ron, who’d had a shit day to begin with, finally snapped.

Harry had arrived minutes later to find a much calmer and very smug looking Ron standing over a very beaten and bloody Thorfinn Rowle.

Harry grinned, “I’ll be sure to do that.”

The two walked at a sedate pace through the dark carven stone corridors as they carefully avoided the rush of traffic to and from nearby offices.  
Harry ducked out of the way of a few interdepartmental memos flew just inches over his head. “I want to take my teams and sweep some of these locations again.” Harry handed over one of the reports Dawlish had given him earlier. “If we leave now we can sweep most of them and still be back in plenty of time.”

Dawlish shook his head “Harry we’ve already swept those locations at least three times. There’s nothing at any of them.”

“When was the last time we looked?” Harry prompted. 

“Two days ago. The team turned up nothing.”

“That’s not good enough. We should be searching those hideouts daily!”

“Harry, you know better than anyone we don’t have the manpower for that. They’ve gone to ground after Rowle was taken down. In fact, we haven’t heard anything in over a week.   
It’s like they’ve just up and disappeared.”

Harry frowned, “That is a bit odd. Usually we hear something of their doings on a weekly basis.”

Dawlish nodded, “I can’t explain it and no one has any ideas about it either. This isn’t like them but no one seems overly concerned.”

“I’m concerned!” Harry replied hotly.

One of the major things that had made Harry and his team so good at hunting Death Eaters was that they were just so predictable in their actions. Harry knew how they thought, their tactics, their world view and how they reacted to changing circumstances. He anticipated and planned for their actions and counter actions and more often than not turned their own plans against them. This had given Harry and his team the initiative and had fed his growing legend, despite how many times he publicly protested it wasn’t just him alone, but the Prophet, among many others in the Ministry, seemed keen on making him Wizarding Britain’s Living legend who had become an Avenger of the common folk. 

Harry was not amused with the parallels drawn between him and the Muggle team of the same name.

“I take it you didn’t come down here to talk about that.” Harry surmised.

Dawlish’s lips twitched in amusement, “No, I did not.”

Harry regarded the man with wary suspicion, “Okay, out with it then, cause I think I have an idea what this is about.”

“The Wizengamot would like you to sit in on this afternoon’s session.”

“I see,” Harry said flatly. “And what does Kingsley have to say about this?”

“'Minister' Shacklebolt, as ever, leaves the choice squarely in your hands.” Dawlish replied sternly. And here he stopped and turned to face Harry directly and his face softened slightly. “Harry, I would strongly suggest you attend. I know you don’t like the Wizengamot. Hell, even I barely tolerate them. But they are necessary. If you keep snubbing them they will take it personally and they will make you pay for it in some way. Do not make an enemy of them.”

“Thank you for that, John. I shall try not soil my pants or shake in my Basilisk skin-boots at the thought of pissing off the Wizengamot.”

Dawlish sighed in frustration, “So, I take it you won’t attend?”

Harry smirked, “So I can what? Sit on a useless session that pertains to nothing important? Maybe listen to a bunch of self-important pureblood families prattle on about some theoretical muggle threat? Or...hell, maybe even aliens this time!” Harry chuckled bitterly. “No, I’m sorry, John. I have better things to do with my time, like track down and capture the men responsible for nearly tearing our society apart! So please, send my regrets to Minister Shacklebolt that I will be unable to attend. And please…inform the Wizengamot they can kindly suck wind.”

Dawlish shook his head in resigned acceptance. “I warned you Harry. Remember, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Dawlish held out his hand in which Harry took it in a firm handshake as the two men parted ways. A few minutes later Harry arrived at the Atrium to find his team waiting for him by the fountain.

“Dawlish try to get you to go to the next session of the Wizagamont?” Seamus replied knowingly.

“Of course. Naturally I told him that I would be unavoidably detained.” Harry answered.

Dean, Ron and Parvati snickered but Neville, Seamus and Susan looked very uncomfortable at that statement.

Harry was quick to pick up on it. “I’ve explained my reasons to you all before. And I know this session won’t be anything important. So, whose day is it to pick lunch?” 

“That would be me.” Neville spoke up. “In fact, I heard of this wonderful little restaurant in York’s that serves the best fish and chips. Figured it was worth taking a look.”

Harry eyed the piece of parchment in Neville’s hand that look suspiciously like the report he’d read earlier that day. He smiled as his eyes took a very predatory gleam “You know Neville, I think fish and chips sounds absolutely brilliant.”

Dean was smirking too, “We can be there in just under a minute by Floo.”

Harry looked around and he could see the entire team had this knowing look about them. 

Harry turned to Neville “Then by all means Neville lead on.”

The team grabbed Floo powder and went to adjacent spots in the Floo network and were quickly whisked away in green fire.  
******  
Later that evening.

 

“Well that turned out to be another dead end,” Ron said sourly as he plopped himself down behind his desk.

“I’m sorry guys.” Neville apologized.

"Don’t apologize Neville, I would have done the exact same thing. It seemed to be the most promising lead we’ve had in a while,” Harry sighed dejectedly.

“I didn’t think the guy was gonna run though. Good catch with that Anti-Aparation field Dean, otherwise we would have lost him. He was all piss and vinegar; saying how he wasn’t going to cooperate till Harry showed up. About pissed his pants he did.” Seamus related, “What was his name again?

“Thomas Eugene Brannon.” Susan relayed from memory, “A ‘Seeker’ of rare objects and artifacts who can find nearly anything…for the right price. In particular he deals in in rare antiquities, exotic and highly questionable potion ingredients, jewelry and muggle contraband.”

Ron snorted, “A thief then like Mundungus Fletcher.”

Dean shook his head sadly, “Actually Ron, probably worse. But the Ministry hasn’t had anything solid on him to send him away to Azkaban, and since he’s turned informant to us we’ve kept the pressure off him, so long as he isn’t doing anything too illegal.”

Parvati scowled “And those are just the dealings we know about or suspect. There are rumors he does an inordinate amount of business in the Muggle World.”

Seamus nodded, “Makes sense as he is Muggle born. He likely didn’t cut ties to the muggle world completely. We could be dealing with a potential breach in the Statute of Secrecy. This could warrant a follow-up investigation at the least.”

“Don’t bother,” Neville spoke up, “Susan and I took that case three months ago. He isn’t violating the statute. But he’s come close to skirting the line a couple of times.” Susan nodded to confirm this.

“Doesn’t matter. Fact is he didn’t know anything.” Ron pointed out. “Which leaves us right back at nothing.”

Around him the members of his team either sat in their chairs or the edge of their desks; all of them showing signs of the same frustration Harry felt.

“What time is it?” Seamus asked.

Dean looked at his watch. “Almost six. I’m knackered. You guys?”

Susan and Parvati nodded in the affirmative. Looking to his left Harry could see Seamus and Neville also nodding, if a bit more reluctantly.

“There’s no point in staying. Go home, rest. I’ll see you all in the morning. Tomorrow we start again. This doesn’t end till we have every one of them rotting in a cage where they belong.” Harry stated with a touch of anger in his voice, but it wasn’t directed at them and they knew it.

They all stood and nodded and Harry couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. They were the best team he could have ever asked for; each one as loyal and dedicated to one another as if they were members of their own family. And they were the best at what they did. Their record as a team already matching Aurors who had decades on the job. He was immensely honored to say he knew them. He was even more humbled by the fact they looked to him as their leader.

It was a responsibility he took very seriously.

As they left for the evening, sans Ron, Harry couldn’t help but lean back in his seat, remove his glasses and rub his eyes tiredly.

Ron smirked as soon as he straightened up, “We’ve been in a bit of rut mate. Even before the Death Eaters pulled this latest vanishing act.”

“Going around in circles is more like it.” Harry admitted. “Though I must admit this is a new play for them. Its unexpected and I don’t like it.” Harry shook his head and shrugged,   
“Well, there’s nothing that can be done about it tonight.” He stood and noted with curiosity that Ron was still sitting at his desk involved in his paperwork.“Ron, that can wait till tomorrow.”

Ron seemed to sink into himself at that statement “I know Harry, it’s just…I don’t want to go home just yet. Got nothing to go home to except an empty flat.”

Harry smiled in sympathy and put a hand on Ron’s shoulder in support. He hated to see Ron hurting like this. “Come on, mate you can have dinner with Ginny and I. Kreacher should have it ready by the time we get back.”

Ron shot him a horrified look, “No, thanks. I already dealt with a howler this week. The last thing I need to do is deal with a living one! Ginny never lets me hear the end of it!”

Despite himself Harry chuckled, “Come on Ron, she’s not that bad.”

Ron snorted, “Says you! My ears didn’t stop ringing for a week after the last time we had dinner. She’s completely nutters!”

Harry did have to admit that Ginny had a very powerful set of lungs. He usually enjoyed it in a certain capacity, but not when she was angry and felt the need to voice that displeasure…loudly. Just the thought of Ginny brought a smile to his face as he thought of walking through the door and whisking her into his arms.

Ron noticed the goofy smile and love struck look and rolled his eyes, “Go home Harry. Really, I’m just going to stay for another hour and catchup on this paper work. I mean it’s not like a lead is going to drop right into our lap or anything.”

SNAP!

Almost as if summoned by Rons declaration, a note of neatly rolled parchment materialized on Harry’s desk. Harry and Ron blinked at it for a few second before exchanging bemused looks.

“Holding out on me, Ron?” Harry asked cheekily.

“Only my big mouth. It’s been known to produce results on occasion.” Ron replied blandly.

Suddenly feeling re-energized Harry pulled out his wand and with a muttered spell carefully scanned the letter.

“Is it bobby-trapped?” Ron asked.

“Booby-trapped, Ron, booby-trapped.” Harry corrected absently.

Harry frowned as the results were relayed to him, “Well,there are definitely curses, jinxes and a whole assortment of protective enchantments to ensure the note isn’t read by anyone but its target. In this case me.” Harry looked up with a frown, “I don’t recognized half of these enchantments either. Hermione certainly doesn’t use anything remotely like this. Its…it’s” Harrys frown dropped into a scowl, “It’s tied to me by blood. Anyone other than me tries to read it and it’s a one way ticket to Saint Mungos.”

Ron looked pale and sick at the idea, “So who would go to all this trouble just to send you a letter?”

Harry’s face still retained that hard edge as he answered, “I have a pretty good idea.”

Ron’s eyes widened in surprise then his face lit up, “You mean your…your source, right?”

Harry shot him an exasperated glare at the question.

Ron sank into his seat, “Right, shutting up now.”

Harry returned his attention back to the note and tore it open and began to read. A minute later he dropped it to his desk with a troubled expression on his face.

“Bad?”

“I don’t know. Guess I’m about to go find out.”

Ron knew instantly what that meant and stood up at once. “Not alone you’re not.”

“Instructions said to come alone.” Harry countered. “I’ll be fine Ron.”

Ron snorted, “Famous last words there Harry, usually before you go charging off to do something stupid.”

Harry laughed, a deep mirthful laugh as he dispelled the tension that had been rising inside him like a knot.   
“It’ll be alright, Ron. Trust me. Hopefully this won’t take too long.

Ron nodded with clear reluctance. “Alright then. But you come straight back here, okay? Otherwise I’ll put in an alert to the ministry.”

Harry nodded, “Fair enough, mate,”

Harry stood, took a deep breath and apparated.

 

****

Malfoy Manner  
Wiltshire, England

 

Malfoy Manor hadn’t changed, and Harry doubted it ever would. It was still large and grandiose, elegant without being ostentatious, with a sweeping lawn enclosed by tall hedges and a long walkway lined by white rosebushes. Gleaming white peacocks strutted and called to each other, startled by Harry’s sudden appearance, but unafraid. As Harry made his way up the path to the house, he wondered if the peacocks were the Malfoy’s version of an alarm, their calls and cries were nondescript and not unexpected, but likely notable enough to alert the Malfoy’s to visitors, welcome and otherwise. 

His theory was proven correct when the large oak doors opened before Harry had knocked. A house elf, tiny and worn, with large blue eyes, ushered Harry through the door and insisted on taking his cloak before guiding him through the large, open foyer and down a hall to a study, where Lucius Malfoy was seated behind a dark wooden desk, brow furrowed as he read over paperwork. The house elf announced Harry’s arrival and Lucius looked up and smiled thinly. 

He stood “I must say I wasn’t expecting you so soon, Mister Potter.”

“I came as soon as I got your invitation.” They shook hands tightly “I’m not interrupting anything am I?” 

“Yes, actually.” Lucius guided Harry over to a pair of leather chairs next to a large window and invited him to sit “Thank you. Your timing is excellent.” 

Harry smiled. Though he and Lucius were on decent, occasionally friendly terms, Harry was well aware Lucius was only being so welcoming because their –ahem- friendship, a term used loosely, made Lucius look good in the eyes of the Wizarding community. 

“Drink?” Lucius asked, gesturing to bottles of wine positioned on a cart near the window.

“No, thank you, I can’t stay long. I’m just here about the information.” 

Lucius poured himself a decanter of wine and sat “Ah, Draco was right. You are impatient.” Harry frowned and Lucius held a hand up in a placating gesture “Just making an observation, Mister Potter.”

“If you don’t have any information for me-”

“The Death Eaters are mobilizing.” Harry froze, muscles locking. 

“What? Where?” 

“The United States.” Lucius answered.

Harry raised an eyebrow “How do you know?”

“Dolohov contacted me.”

Harry’s hands clenched at the name as memories threatened to overwhelm him. He could see Hermione writhing in pain from Dolohov’s concocted curse. He saw Remus and Nymphadoras prone figures, Fred’s lifeless eyes staring blankly at him. And in that moment all he saw was red. It took all his brutal self-restraint to push the rage back to where he kept it bottled.

“Where is he?” Harry demanded instantly, and Lucius shot him a look. 

“What makes you think he’d tell me? Yes, I’m still informed, but I don’t have the sway with them I once did. My loyalty is already being questioned. It seems something of a coincidence to them that I was the only one not present when the Auror’s busted in on a meeting several months ago. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Yaxley and Rookwood wouldn’t talk in interrogation, and it seems Rowle’s not going to either.” Harry pointed out.

Lucius shrugged “They’re in custody, aren’t they? Three more of the Dark Lord’s inner circle under lock and key? I’d think you’d be thankful.” 

Harry sighed “Why are they going to the states?” 

“Now that I don’t know; Dolohov invited me along, a test of loyalty I think, but my reputation is on shaky enough ground with the Ministry as it is.” He looked at Harry oddly, but Harry couldn’t read the expression “It’s only thanks to your intervention and our -ah- friendship that I’m not in Azkaban. Again.” 

“D’you know what might be in the states that’d interest them?” 

Lucius lifted an eyebrow, as if questioning Harry’s intelligence “You don’t?” 

Harry narrowed his eyes “Why should I?” 

“I’d think it’s rather obvious.” Harry opened his mouth to reply, to press for details, but Lucius continued “They’ve found something there, something likely to do with those muggle heroes everyone’s on about.” 

Harry frowned “What would interest the Death Eaters about them?” 

“What about anything interests Death Eaters? Power.” He took a sip of wine “Those muggles are exceptionally powerful and it’s far too much of a coincidence that, only months after they’ve defeated an extraterrestrial army, the remaining Death Eaters would mobilize and move to the United States.”

“What if it’s only a coincidence?”

Lucius gave Harry a dark look “Nothing is coincidence.” 

Harry rubbed his temple “What d’you think they’ve found?” 

Lucius shrugged “I’ve no idea. Whatever it is, it won’t be good for the rest of us.”

“So you don’t know for certain if they’ve found anything?” 

“Not for certain, no, but they’re too… eager. Hopeful. The only reason for that would be because they’ve found something that would of use to them. Something that would help them.” He smirked “I’ve never seen Dolohov in a good mood, but he was downright giddy in his letter. It was rather disturbing.” 

“No one has seen him since the battle of Hogwarts. Now suddenly he’s back from wherever he’s been holed up?”

“So it would appear.” Lucius confirmed.

“Can I have the letter?” 

“Certainly. I’ve no use for it. I’ll get it for you when you leave.” 

The door to the study opened suddenly and Narcissa Malfoy strode through, a letter in hand, “Darling, dinner is almost- oh, Harry. I didn’t know you were here.” She shot her husband an annoyed glance for not informing her of their guest. He had the intelligence to avoid her gaze.

Harry stood and greeted her with a smile, remembering the moment she’d lied to Voldemort, saving his life “Mrs. Malfoy, how are you?” 

“Very well, thank you. And yourself? Lucius tells me you’ve been busy.” 

“Always.” 

Lucius interrupted the pleasantries, much to Harry’s relief “Is that a letter from Draco?”

“Yes.” He stood to accept the offered letter and Narcissa answered Harry’s questioning look. “Extended honeymoon in the United States. He and Astoria are expanding the family business there and doing quite successfully. Draco’s already developing contacts at the American Department of Magical Affairs.” She quirked an eyebrow at Harry “You received an invitation to the wedding, yes?” 

Harry nodded “I didn’t feel it’d be… appropriate, for me to attend.”

Her expression softened a bit “We would have been happy to have you and Miss Weasley, Harry.” She paused, lifting a disapproving eyebrow at Lucius, who was reading Draco’s letter a little hurriedly, frantically, if Harry didn’t know him better, then turned back to Harry “Will you be joining us for dinner? I can have our house elf set another place.” 

“No, that’s quite alright, I just came to, er, check in.”

She glanced at her husband “He’s told you about Dolohov’s letter, then? Good. Nothing good can come from him.” She turned to look more fully at Lucius “It makes me nervous, Lucius, that Dolohov seems to have more power.” 

He nodded, lowering Draco’s letter “Yes, it’s… worrisome. He was always a fair bit more ambitious than he was intelligent.”

“You think Dolohov’s taken over lead of the Death Eaters?” Harry asked, irritated Lucius hadn’t mentioned in sooner.

Lucius nodded “Most likely, though I haven’t any definitive proof, of course.” 

“And you have no idea where he is?” 

Lucius shook his head, walking to his desk and leafing through a pile of parchment. “My wager would be New York, but he didn’t say outright.” He pulled a small sheaf of papers from the pile and returned to hand it to Harry, “Here’s his letter. I’ve told you everything I know for certain, but maybe you can glean more from this than I.” His tone took on a slightly mocking edge, but Harry didn’t mind. He had the letter, Mr. Malfoy could be as condescending as he liked. It was his way of trying to maintain the advantage over Harry, but both of them knew who was paying off a life debt to whom. 

Narcissa nodded in agreement. “New York, most certainly, if that’s where those muggle heroes are; if we find out for certain, however, we’ll alert you immediately.” 

“Thank you.” He was a little startled at Narcissa’s willingness, and openness, to help him, but he imagined it might be her way of repaying Harry for telling her about Draco. 

Lucius nodded “If you’re not in a hurry there are few things I’d like to discuss with you in private. There are minor details to go over. Actions that can be taken in the interim while they are away to erode their support base even further. I believe you may find it most refreshing.”

Harry realized that dinner was likely growing cold on the table and Ginny was no doubt huffing angrily. But he was doing this for her, for all of them.

“I have the time.”

******

Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  
Ministry of Magic.

 

Harry walked into his practically deserted office some time later and halted suddenly at the redhead still seated at his desk. It was late and most of the Ministry had gone home for the night, leaving the place nearly deserted. So Harry was surprised to see Ron was still here.

“Thought you would have gone home already.” Harry stated when Ron looked up.

“Promised to wait for you didn’t I?” Ron shrugged, “Besides, I caught up on all my paperwork. It’s definitely one thing about this job that I can do without.”

Harry snorted, he was in complete agreement about that.

“Don’t worry about Ginny. I floo’d her about an hour ago and told her you got called away on urgent Ministry business. Nothing dangerous, but it required your immediate attention and couldn’t wait. She wasn’t happy about it but she said she expected something like that.”

Harry smiled gratefully, “Thanks, Ron. I didn’t know what I was going to tell her.”

Ron smirked “I told her the truth. Which is exactly what this is.” Ron nodded to the letter he saw clutched Harry’s hand. “I take it your source, whoever he is, came through again, eh?”

Harry’s eyes hardened and his face took on a hungry almost predatory look “Oh yes…he did.”

Ron sat up straighter “Now we’re talking. What’d he tell you?”

“Dolohov is back. My source seems to think he’s taken over the remaining inner circle and is now their leader.”

Ron’s face hardened to match Harry’s. ‘Dolohov…he’s been gone for over four years now, mate. Suddenly he’s back? Why? What brought him out of hiding?”

“Apparently something in the United States has grabbed their attention, got them hopeful. My source seems to think it has something to do with those Muggle Super Heroes the Prophet keeps prattling on about.”

Ron went from looking very angry to deathly pale in an instant and Harry could see the wheels turning in his mind. Ron was on to something, something Harry could only guess at.

Harry looked at Ron with grave concern. “What?”

“When did they leave for the states?”

“They left yesterday morning, apparently. Before that, Dolohov returned a few weeks ago and began slowly consolidating things under him. Considering what’s left of their organization I can’t imagine that was very hard to do.”

“Harry….when did Hermione send that letter?” Ron asked. The question enough seemed odd to Harry, but Ron’s tone of voice seemed to indicate he was on to something. 

“She sent it a couple of days ago. Five, I think, factoring in trans-Atlantic travel for owls. I just got it this morning. Why?”

“So, Hermione sends this letter. In it she goes on about this Muggle super potion. Then suddenly, that same day, you find out the Death Eaters have split the country and are heading to New York? Harry, don’t you think that’s a bit more than a coincidence?”

Harry frowned, noticeably skeptical. Lucius had been hinting at something in New York having caught the Death Eaters attention, and now Ron was hinting at the same thing. He had been inclined to dismiss Lucius Malfoy’s speculations as just that, idle speculation. But now, here was Ron, his best mate, saying virtually the same thing. It was enough to make him question his own thoughts on the matter and at least listen.

Ron must have sensed an opportunity as he continued on, “Harry, you read the same note I did, right?”

“Of course I did.”

“In that note Hermione went into detail about that Serum, about what it did.”

Harry nodded, “Yes. Enhanced super human strength, reflexes, speed, optimal health and enhanced system of regeneration. Yeah, I got all that.”

Ron frowned. “You must of missed the biggest part of that then.” Ron got up and went to Harry’s desk and fished out the letter. He skimmed for a bit until he found what he was looking for. “Here it is.” He handed the letter back to Harry and pointed to a particular part. “Read that again.”

Harry sighed and took the note and began reading the section Ron had highlighted. He could practically hear Hermiones voice in his head as he bean to read.

 

……One can only imagine what Professor Snape would have said about it, but it’s none the less very real and very fascinating.

Harry, I cannot begin to tell you the wonder of this discovery. This Super Soldier Serum is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Its effects are almost magical on the body, but utilizing Muggle science. As far as I can tell from my research, the effects are completely permanent. Physically, the Super Soldier Serum enhances the body in every conceivable way: physical strength and muscle mass are amplified several times over, but to what degree I don’t know, my Great Aunt Peggy’s notes clearly specify super human levels of strength with unlimited endurance to the subject’s cardiovascular and muscular systems. Speed and reflexes are also enhanced, again to an unspecified but clearly super human level. Overall health seems to be improved as well.

Harry, this serum was given to a young, sickly man and in a matter of moments turned him into the height of physical perfection with no lasting issues of illness; even chronic issues like Asthma, anemia and other congenital issues seemed to have been resolved instantly by the serum. It’s simply astounding!!!

As far as mental capacity, the Serum seems to enhance the mind as well: adaptability, creativity, critical thinking and memory and recall are enhanced to a significant degree. It’s amazing what this Serum can, do Harry, just think of the possibilities! If Muggles could create something like this, think what else they can do!

And Harry, none of this compares to the real gem of this Serum. From my research, the Serum seems to have an effect that transcends the physical, enhancing more than just mind and body. The serum was designed to take everything about its subject; every positive trait about them and enhance it to optimal, and sometimes beyond, levels. Think about that Harry, an entire persons’ potential and character enhanced and optimized, and what’s more, realized by taking this serum.

Harry, if this proves true, then there could be an army of Muggle Super Soldiers out there and we wouldn’t know it. I am worried about the implications of this. It could potentially be…..

 

Harry stopped reading at that point as he finally caught on to what Ron was implying. “Ron, you’re suggesting that the Death Eaters know of the Serum and they’re going to the United States to get it for themselves?” Harry asked slowly and deliberately.

Ron nodded solemnly, “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Harry.”

Harry was still skeptical, “Okay, I’ll bite. Let’s say that you’re right and the Death Eaters are after the Serum. How did they learn about in the first place?”

Ron pointed to the letter in Harry’s hand. “You’re holding it in your hand, mate.”

Harry shook his head “That’s not very likely Ron. Hermione uses all manner of security enchantments and jinxes. There’s no way they could have broken them.”

Ron gave Harry a funny look. “If you’re desperate enough anything is possible, Harry. And think about it. People call us ‘The Golden Trio’ because we were the ones most responsible for bringing down ‘You know Who’. In the eyes of a lot of people, good and bad, that makes us important. You don’t think people are intercepting our mail to get intelligence on what we’re up to?”

Harry hadn’t actually given that much thought even though he should have known better. The Ministry had intercepted his mail before and it wasn’t such a huge leap to think the Death Eaters would do the same to try and keep tabs on him.

Harry nodded, “Okay, I can buy that one. But---“

“—Why would they go for the Serum?” Ron anticipated. 

Harry nodded.

“Harry, you’re my best friend, but you can be incredibly thick sometimes.” Harry shot Ron an annoyed look but held his tongue. Ron was clearly onto something.

“That muggle potion doesn’t just enhance the physical and mental like Hermione said. It enhances everything about you. Your entire potential enhanced, and realized by taking that serum. Everything Harry. 'Everything'. And the Death Eaters are just desperate enough to believe it. Harry we’ve been closing in on them for months now. Put yourself in their shoes. You have Harry Potter, the man who defeated You-Know-Who, hunting you down. Most of your allies, your friends, are either dead or in Azkaban, thanks to him. And now he’s hunting you. You intercept a letter from Hermione Granger, the witch who’s considered the brains behind the great Harry Potter, about some super Muggle potion that could give you powers beyond your dreams and could tip things back in your favor. What would you do?”

The implications of what Ron was suggesting hit Harry like a bludger to the face. He felt almost physically ill at the thought. The Death Eaters thought this Serum could enhance everything about them, enhance their 'magic' even. Harry didn’t know if such a thing was even possible and he didn’t want to find out, particularly from a Death Eater hocked up on this Serum. Ron certainly gave a compelling argument not to ignore this.

Harry felt the strength leave him and he slowly collapsed into his chair. How did he not think of this?

Ron shook his head gravely, “The irony of all this is that if anyone else had written that letter, the Death Eaters would probably have ignored it, but because it’s Hermione, they’re giving it all their attention. They learned not to underestimate her, not to ignore her. They know she’s dangerous. They know she’s scary smart. And they know she’s most likely right.”

Harry cradled his face in his hands and he took a few deep calming breaths before he finally looked up and met Ron’s eyes.

“They have a day’s head start on us. I need to contact Dawlish and the Minister, they’re going to want to hear this. We need to go after them. We’re going to need the ability to operate in the States, and I don’t think the Yanks are going to be too thrilled about that.”

He stood at the same time Ron did.

“You want me to Floo the team? Get the back in here?” Ron asked

Harry shook his head, “Not yet. Let’s wait till after I talk with the Minister and Dawlish.”

“I’ll go with you” Ron said.

Harry smiled gratefully and the two left to find the Minister. It looked like they were going to be burning the midnight oil.


	3. First meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are proceeding at the Ministry as Harry gets things in motion. Steve and Hermione meet in New York after a botched mission in Canada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took so long to update everyone. Things have been really busy in my life with Deployment (and redeployment) And for Independence Day, lets just say she's now a proud college graduate. So things have been very busy for us these last few months. Please enjoy and make sure to review!

The Minister of Magic’s office was a small yet elegant room; much like the atrium itself, it was predominately obsidian in color but with a white marble fireplace connected to the minister’s private floo network, with long sash windows looking out onto the atrium several levels below. The rest of the room was decorated with awards and portraits denoting the most notable men and women who’d held the office in the past, but none more important than the portrait near the door. Along that wall was their link to the muggle world; a painting of a man in a wig who was currently ‘in’, sat in a chair gazing at the five men in the office with interest.

The current Minister of Magic, one Kingsley Shacklebolt, sat behind his desk and read the parchment in his hands with a grim expression. It had been four years since Kingsley had taken leadership of Wizarding Britain and those years had not been kind to him. Permanent age lines were beginning to form between his eyebrows and around his eyes, reminders of the incredible stress unloaded on the man and the countless hours of work and sleep. Though he was still a large man, as he’d always been, his face had begun to hollow out, the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones a little darker, his robes hanging a little looser around the middle and through the shoulders. It seemed as though the job was very slowly beginning to suck the vigor right out of him, and while the changes seemed slight, just the hints of what was to come, to Harry the differences were profound. 

This Kingsley Shacklebolt did not laugh anymore, nor did he seem to find much enjoyment in anything. The hours he pulled at the ministry cut into every aspect of his life, leaving room for nothing else. All that was left to him was his duty to his people and the personal honor and integrity which he led by. Harry honestly didn’t know how he did it; he was the proverbial Atlas holding the weight of Wizarding Britain on his shoulders, and he bore that weight with a proud but silent dignity Harry could only admire.  
During the second war with Voldemort, Harry had worked with the proud Auror on several occasions and had come away favorably impressed. But since taking over the Ministry, Kingsley had performed above and beyond the call of duty and in doing so, had become one of Harry’s heroes. Now though, he seemed to sink into himself just a little more so, the shadows of exhaustion around his eyes and the lines bracketing his mouth growing steadily darker and more pronounced by the second. Harry’s gut clenched and roiled unpleasantly, feeling guilty that he was the cause of even further suffering. 

Kingsley slowly lowered the note of parchment with a sense of resigned weariness. He folded it gingerly and returned it to Harry. It was Hermione’s letter, and while Harry had been hesitant to share it with anyone outside their main group, ultimately he had to make Kingsley understand the seriousness of the situation. So after the pleasantries had been over with Harry had reluctantly handed over the letter to the Minister.

It was likely Hermione would have approved of Harry’s actions but it still felt like a betrayal of her trust.

“Minister?” Arthur Weasley asked with a perplexed expression. As the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office this particular situation somehow fell into his purview. As a result he had been summoned to this meeting more as a formality than for any real contribution he could provide. 

Seated next to him was Elliot McMillan, former Unspeakable, now head of the Department of Mysteries and Hermione’s immediate boss. An older man of indeterminate years, though appeared in his mid-sixties, his platinum silver hair and thick moustache were flicked with with specs of black and cut short, to almost muggle military regulation. He was of average height, with a thin, wiry build but he exuded a sense of calm detachment and supreme confidence coupled with a severe no nonsense personality and sharp, hawk like eyes. To Harry, McMillan looked like he would be more comfortable on the saddle of a horse, like a Muggle cowboy than sitting here in Wizarding robes.

Yet Harry was somewhat apprehensive about the man. Of all the people in this room he felt he had a decent grasping of their personalities, McMillan was the wild card.  
Harry had never really had any dealing with McMillan. All he really had on the man were a few things Hermione and Arthur Weasley said about him. McMillan was a tough boss, strict though fair minded. He ran his department with an unprecedented efficiency, of which he had pioneered, such as it hadn’t seen in ages, and had no trouble hiring Muggleborns and Half-bloods in positions usually held by Purebloods. 

What’s more, he had no problems giving those positions of power and responsibility within his department, so long as it got things done. The man certainly had no problems stepping on toes or pissing people off if it got him what he needed either. Politically, the man was a bit of an enigma. He had resigned in disgust after Voldemort’s ‘new order’ had taken over. Even now, he hadn’t shown even a hint of the pro-pureblood supremacy still rampant in Wizarding society, despite being from a very prominent and powerful pureblood family. But at the same time, he had been very adamant in his opposition to many of Kingsley’s policies to the point of borderline insubordination.  
Standing behind and between him and Arthur Weasley stood John Dawlish, and off to the left against the wall near the fireplace stood Harry and Ron.

“Is this all that’s coming?” Ron asked as he noted the people in the room.

Arthur snorted, “One would think the Wizengamot would send a representative to this meeting. Or do they not consider this important?”

Kingsley rubbed his tired, blood-shot eyes. “They’re not coming, Arthur, and good riddance. I told them I would brief them in the morning. Everyone who is coming is here, so let’s get to it then, shall we?”

Everyone nodded and murmured their assent.

“All right then,” Kingsley began, “I have called this meeting concerning the recent actions of the Death Eaters.”  
Dawlish and Harry exchanged glances. Harry had given him a quick briefing on what he had learned on the way up to the meeting with the minister so that his boss didn’t get blindsided. 

Arthur Weasley’s face was pinched with obvious worry. “What happened? Was there an attack?”

Kingsley shook his head, “Nothing of the sort, Arthur. The Death Eaters are gone.”

“Gone?” Arthur asked with obvious surprise. “Where did they go? And why?”

Kingsley turned to look at Harry, “Harry?”

Harry nodded and took in their expectant faces looking at him, “The Death Eaters left for the United States yesterday morning, specifically for New York City. As for why; they believe they’ve found something that will help them turn the tide in their favor here. They’ve gone in force to get it.”

McMillan raised an eyebrow. “And how have you come by this information, Auror Potter?”

“I have a source that’s close to the Death Eaters. They contacted me a few hours ago with the details.”

McMillan blinked in surprise as did Arthur Weasley and the Minister. Dawlish didn’t react, but gave Harry a level look devoid of emotion. He was already aware of Harry’s source, if not who it was.

“And who is the source of yours, Auror Potter?” McMillan asked.

“I’m afraid I cannot reveal that information. My source has a cover that must be maintained. And the ministry has more holes in it than a block of Swiss cheese. Revealing that information will only ensure my source is killed.”

Kingsley regarded Harry with approval. “Has this been verified?”

Harry shook his head. “I have no independent verification of this information, but I trust my source.”  
Arthur shared a look with Kingsley before turning to face Harry. “While I don’t doubt that’s true, Harry, we need to know if this is reliable. We shouldn’t rush into action without verifying it.”

“It’s reliable. I trust it implicitly,” Harry said with more of an edge to his voice than he meant. He didn’t have the heart to tell Arthur, nor Ron, that his source was Lucius Malfoy, a man they both detested and despised. Harry wasn’t sure he could handle the looks of betrayal and hurt when they learned that little fact.

“Look, as fascinating as this tangent we’re on is, can someone bottom line this for me?” McMillan asked, impatient.  
Harry looked McMillan directly in the eyes and decided to give it to him straight. 

“Sometime in the 40’s, the Muggles created some sort of miracle potion called the ‘Super Soldier Serum’. It was designed to enhance everything about its subject from strength, to mental acuity, to their very potential, and then realize that potential. It enhances…well everything.”

“How do you know about this?”

“Hermione recently made this discovery. I’m not exactly sure how, but she did. She went into meticulous detail about what she found.”

McMillan leaned forward with a look of consternation on his face, as if he had just heard something profoundly disturbing. “So the Muggles created this potion and you think the Death Eaters are after it?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“And the Death Eaters think it might be able to increase their magical power, make them some sort of Super Wizards?”

“Yes.”

McMillan closed his eyes and sighed wearily. “It’s the Magica Portentia problem all over again.”

Harry and Ron traded confused looks but Arthur and Kingsley were nodding gravely.

“What’s ‘Magica portentia’?” Ron asked. 

“The Magica Portentia project,” McMillan began, “Was a joint attempt by the Department of Mysteries and the best Medi-Witches and Wizards at St. Mungo’s of the time to create a cure for the Squib problem. In the past eighty years or so Wizarding Britain and Wizarding Europe have seen a large increase in Squib births, predominantly in Pureblood families. These families were desperate to do anything to hide the shame of it more than any true desire to help their offspring, but a few of the families, mine included, attempted to find a cure for their condition.”

Harry felt his skin crawl as McMillan began his explanation. “Since I’ve never heard about this cure, I’m going to assume it never worked.”  
McMillan shook his head. “No, Mister Potter, it did not, but not for the reasons you think. While the project had noble intentions early on and early tests were very encouraging, word go out, as it always does. Initially it was praised by the Ministry and the people at large for helping those in need. It won international acclaim by the ICW and brought with it a lot of prestige internationally. Many of those families with Squibs offered political and financial support. For the first time since Grindelwald, the Wizarding world was united behind something completely.”

“What went wrong?” Harry asked, despite himself, he was completely fascinated by the tale.

“What else? Pureblood politics. The goals of the project began to change. It became less about doing something noble and more about their own self interests. Squibs stopped being the focus of the research, instead being supplanted by Purebloods.”

Arthur added his own two cents: “They perverted the project, Harry. It became less and less about curing the Squibs condition and more to do with enhancing Pureblood power and supremacy. Most, if not all, of the Pureblood aristocrats who supported it began to quietly wonder whether helping squibs was as important as increasing their own power.”  
McMillan shot Arthur an annoyed glance at being interrupted but continued on. “Arthur is essentially correct. A cabal of families used their influence to seize control of the project. They removed the witches and wizards who created the potion and replaced them with ones far less capable, but more loyal to their vision. They used the Squibs as test subjects, lying to them about the nature of the potion they were taking. Most of them were killed, but those that survived suffered crippling conditions as their meager magical cores were corrupted beyond any hope of repair. The damage done was…horrific. Think of a low level Cruciatus curse: the pain is excruciating, it burrows right down to the bones and lingers. Now imagine being forced to live with that for every waking minute of your life. That’s what happened to the ones lucky enough to survive.”

“The Prophet ran with story and public support dried up overnight. International acclaim turned to international ridicule and condemnation. The potion and all research material were discontinued as a political embarrassment when it proved to be a total failure. It was moved to the vaults of the Department of Mysteries where it remained till the first war when Voldemort and his Death Eaters went after it. I destroyed it myself in the ensuing struggle.”

Harry remembered Miss Fig and sighed sadly. How different would her life had been if the potion had worked out, if things had gone according to plan? The entire Wizarding world would have been completely different.

Ron looked to his father with a quizzical expression. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this, dad?”

Arthur shrugged, “It was before your time, son. Before mine even. It’s not a secret by any stretch. Honestly, Ron, it just never came up.”

“Nor should it,” McMillan interjected, but with a voice hinted a deep personal pain on the subject. “No one likes to talk about our society’s greatest failure. And now you tell us that the Muggles somehow succeeded where we failed,” McMillan said looking up. “I find that a little hard to believe.”

“In truth, so do I,” Harry said. As he did so, he traded a look with Ron and shrugged apologetically. “But what’s important is that the Death Eaters believe it. And we need to act on it too.”

“There is no way I can sell this to the Wizengamot, Harry.” Kingsley stated

Harry grinned, “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.”

Kingsley grimaced. “Relations with the Americans have improved since I took over, particularly since the Malfoy family began expanding their influence over there. Economically, they’re still one of the wealthiest families in the wizarding community, and politically they have excellent, far-reaching connections. It’s been helpful, despite the Malfoy’s reputation. However, it cannot be understated the damage Ministers Fudge and Scrimgeour caused us with their appalling foreign policies. This could start an international incident and damage our already shaky relations with the Yanks.”

Harry could sympathize, but such concerns were above his pay grade. “We’ll need the ability to operate in the States, with our authority as Aurors intact.”  
Kingsley shook his head, “There is no way they’re going to go for that, Harry.”

“Then use Malfoy—”

Arthur interrupted angrily, “Harry are you out of your mind!?”

Ron gave Harry a disturbed look. “Yeah, Mate, I’m with my dad on this one. The last thing we need to do is give Lucius Malfoy a chance to weasel his way back into the Ministry’s good graces. This is the opening he’s been looking for.”

Harry returned Ron’s disturbed look with an intense one of his own. “Then use it. Nothing is more important than this. We have a real chance to end the Death Eater threat once and for all. We take it.”

Harry looked to Kingsley. “If they get this serum and it actually does what they believe it does, can we take that risk? Hermione was very clear on what it did to that one Muggle. It turned Steve Rogers from a frail, sickly, 6 stones asthmatic into a super human wrecking ball and a symbol the Muggle world rallied behind. The Death Eaters must be very confident it can do even more for them.”

Kinsley’s eyed Harry sharply. “What was that name again?”

“Steve Rogers,” Ron supplied. “Hermione said they called him ‘Captain America’. Stupid name really.”

“The same Captain America that led the Avengers in New York?” Kingsley asked.

Harry came up short at the question. “It can’t be the same guy, can it? I mean he’d be in his nineties.”

Kingsley reached into his desk and pulled out, of all things, a Muggle newspaper, the New York Times, and then a copy of the Daily Prophet. Whereas the Prophet’s picture showed the team of ‘Avengers’ standing back to back in a circle, the Muggle one went into far more detail and dedicated an entire page to each specific member. Page 1 was dedicated to Captain America, without his helmet on; he was covered in grime and dirt from the battle, with a few scrapes and bruises on his face as he stared at the devastation around him.

Kingsley put them side by side. “I try to keep informed what’s going on in the Muggle world. At least to some extent, more so than any of my counter parts ever did. Read the Muggle paper.”

Harry grabbed the paper and began reading slowly and intently. He frowned first in apparent confusion before his eyes widened slightly in amazement. Ten minutes later he set the paper down on Kinsley’s desk with trembling hands.

“It’s the same man. The Prophet doesn’t even have half of this information,” Harry said, his voice weak. “But how is that possible?”

Ron picked up the paper and began reading in earnest. A few minutes later, he too was slowly lowering it as well, his expression mirroring Harry’s.

“Blimey, that’s not possible, is it?” Ron swallowed heavily past a suddenly dry mouth. “How does a bloke look that good in his nineties?”

Kingsley shrugged. “No one seems to know. Not even the Muggle papers can adequately explain it, and none of the Avengers are talking. But it’s clear to even the Muggles it’s the same man.”

Harry took a deep breath to rally himself. This was unlike anything he had expected. “All the more reason we can’t allow them to get this serum. We have to go to the States and stop them before they get it. I don’t want to run the risk of them being right, do you?”

“No we can’t.” Kingsley sighed gravely. He turned to look at John Dawlish who had remained quite during the proceedings. “Besides Harry and Ron, obviously, how many Aurors can you spare?”

Dawlish frowned for a second, “The Auror department isn’t as large as it once was, we’re still rebuilding. I can spare maybe three Aurors, four at most. Anything else—“

“My entire team.” Harry interrupted.

“Seven Aurors are out of the question, Harry.” Dawlish answered instantly but with a look that was ‘long-suffering’. The man clearly anticipated Harry would do this.

“But the threat isn’t here anymore. The DMLE can handle things here while my team goes to the States and takes care of the Death Eaters.”

“And what about the Americans?” Dawlish asked. “Do you really believe they’re going to give you the kind of latitude I do? Despite the propaganda you might hear in the Prophet or in other circles, I assure you the American Wardens are every bit as capable as our Aurors.”

“I don’t care if they are or not. This is our problem and we need to fix it before it causes us future problems.” Harry shrugged. “We’ll figure something out. Either way we need to make this happen now.”

McMillan spoke up with his own opinion. “I tend to be in agreement, Minister. I don’t know if this Muggle potion works, but if it does we can’t let the Death Eaters have it, the kind of damage they could cause would be horrific.”

“And what if you’re wrong and it doesn’t work?” Dawlish asked. 

“Then we still lose anyway, if they cause an international incident, especially if the Americans don’t take us seriously with us sending only 3 or 4 Aurors. A full team would be needed to show that we’re taking the situation with the appropriate gravity.” McMillan answered.

Dawlish sighed but nodded in acquiescence.

“Are we in agreement, then?” Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt asked.  
Everyone nodded.

“Then I’ll make the arrangements,” Kingsley stated. “Harry, take who you need with you. Whatever it takes.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“Minister, I’d also like an Unspeakable on that team. If by chance the Muggles did succeed in creating a potion that can enhance magical potential, I think it would be wise to get a sample of it for study and see if we can figure out how they did it.”

“Agreed. Who did you have in mind?” Shacklebolt asked.

“Miss Granger is already on the ground and is aware of the situation. She’ll join the team once they make it to the States.”  
Harry bristled, “She’s on sabbatical.”

McMillan shot Harry a frustrated look. “Not anymore she’s not. She’s been on sabbatical for over a year. I can barely afford to lose anyone for more than a month, let alone a whole year. It’s not fair to my people that they have to pick up her slack. If she hasn’t patched things up with her parents by now, then it’s not likely to happen any time soon. I need my most promising witch on this and she already is. If this is too much for her than I’ll be forced to let her go. End of story.”

Harry fumed, but didn’t say anything because he knew McMillan was, at least partially, right. Hermione was the best and her help would be invaluable.  
Minister Shacklebolt cleared his throat to get their attention, his mouth twisted into a grimace, as if he had just bitten into something tart. “I’ll summon Lucius Malfoy to the Ministry on urgent business and speak to the American Minister. We’ll get it arranged. For now prep your team and be ready to depart on a moment’s notice, Harry.”  
Harry and Ron departed the minister’s office intent for their own. Neither would be getting any sleep tonight.

 

*****

 

Quinjet 087 Heading Northbound.  
60 miles south of Sudbury, Canada.

 

The puffy white clouds created mountains in the sky, serene and quiet, when a wide-winged plane shot out through the vapor, almost too quick for the human eye to follow. The clouds swirled and undulated, breaking apart and shifting at the disturbance. Seconds later, a clap of thunder broke through the silence, unnatural and solitary. By then, no one was around to hear it.

There were eight people inside the next generation jet. Ensconced by its armored body, they were strapped securely in their seats, exchanging glances or ignoring one another entirely. The high-pitched whine of the Quinjet's supersonic jet engines eventually gave way to a dull roar that settled into the background as the jet slowed to subsonic flight smoothly. This had gone almost unnoticed by the passengers, one of whom, the leader, calmly turned to the forward facing window and gazed out into the sky.

The setting sun seemed to drown in the horizon, its rays of light glimmering in the encroaching darkness of the clouds as the pale moon began to brighten. Twilight was upon them and soon night would fall, the clouds holding the promise of a peaceful night with twinkling stars and good visibility.

Night would conceal their insertion and, with good visibility, would ensure they wouldn’t need night vision equipment. Of course, that also worked in the other way as well. Still, it was a beautiful sight and one he so rarely got to see. The last time he had enjoyed such a view was the night before the attack on Hydra's launch facility with the person who mattered most to him in this life, Peggy Carter. He didn’t enjoy the sight now.

Captain Steve Rogers' watch broke through the relative quiet with an attention grabbing and irritating beep. He looked down to see the time, killed the alarm and then slapped the quick release of his four point harness. He stood, and stretched to work out any kinks or lingering soreness from the day’s intense physical training. Naturally, there was none. 

“We’re fifteen minutes from the drop zone, Captain,” the pilot's voice said over the PA. 

“Acknowledged,” Captain Rogers replied. He turned to the eight people on the jet with him, “You heard the man, we’re fifteen minutes out. Conduct final checks of weapons and equipment.”

“Roger that, sir. STRIKE you head the Cap,” Agent Brock Rumlow said.

The team went to work checking their equipment and weapons and then that of their team mates. It was quick, crisp and efficient; like a well-oiled machine that left little doubt this was a well trained and experienced team.

“Secure channel three,” Captain Rogers said as he thumbed his throat mike.

“Channel three secure,” A feminine voice replied. Looking across from him, Cap looked up and into the eyes of the only female on the Quinjet, Natasha Romanoff, who had become a sort of constant companion of his since the events in New York. She returned his glance with a steady one of her own, unruffled and patient, as always. 

“Secure,” Rumlow reported. The rest of team STRIKE reported in the affirmative.

“Alright Rumlow, you’re on.” Cap nodded to the other agent.

A man in his mid-thirties of medium height with a runner’s build, dark raven black hair and eyes, he seemed unassuming and average at first glance. But behind the calm exterior was a world class martial artist and top rate agent. A man Steve Rogers was quickly coming to rely on.

Rumlow moved to a monitor on the corner of the Quinjet and activated a display.

“Our mission is to intercept a weapons deal at the River Valley rock quarry in Canada. Forty eight hours ago, a shipment of weapons bound for a SHIELD R&D facility were stolen when armed gunmen attacked a government storage facility housing them in New York. They killed at least six NYPD and two SHIELD personnel on site just as they were conducting the transfer.”

“What kind of weapons?” Agent Romanoff asked.

Rumlow took a deep breath and gave a pained look. “Chitauri plasma weapons.”

“You’re kidding me,” Cap exhaled in disbelief.

“Wish I was, Cap,” Rumlow answered.

Steve sighed and motioned for Rumlow to continue.

“Agent Barton arrived on scene during the attack and tried to render assistance but there were too many of them. He sounded the alarm at HQ and called for backup but the attackers soon escaped with their cargo. Barton pursued alone and without backup. From there the attackers proceeded north into Canada. SHIELD contacted the Canadian government and got clearance for this operation. Currently, Canadian federal and local authorities are quietly securing a perimeter around the quarry. Agent Barton is currently on site in an elevated fixed position monitoring them. For the time being they remain unaware of his presence.”

Natasha frowned. “The warehouse attack happened two days ago. He’s been pursuing them alone this whole time?” 

Rumlow nodded. “Correct.”

Cap nodded in appraisal. “Impressive. But he’s gotta be exhausted.”

Natasha nodded ever so slightly in agreement but didn’t say anything. If she seemed worried she hid it well as Steve couldn’t see a trace of it on her impassive features and her body language gave nothing away. She was tough, Nat, cool and efficient to the point of unemotional. It had been unnerving, at first, but Cap was slowly getting used to Natasha’s cool exterior and no-nonsense attitude. 

Rumlow smirked. “Barton’s stubborn like that, only a fool would bet against him”

Cap returned Rumlow’s smirk with one of his own. “Never said I was.” Steve’s face turned serious. “What do we know about the attackers? Numbers? Ordinance? Motivations?”

Rumlow pulled up another screen. “We don’t have ID on most of these guys but from what we can gather, they’re most likely mercenaries. But they’re led by this man, William Cross, former CIA turned rouge, goes by the code name ‘Crossfire’. Expert in infiltration and extraction, martial arts, explosives, weapons and counter terrorist tactics. He led six Ops in Afghanistan to take down high level financers for the Taliban and their arms dealers, all successful. Prior to that he had over a dozen OPs in eastern Europe.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “I seriously doubt that.”

“You’d be right, Agent Romanoff. Someone at CIA got suspicious and started quietly looking into his past operations. What they found was that Cross had been taking out what would become his competition before throwing his hat into being an arms dealer. He sold weapons and classified intel to the highest bidder. He is accredited with single handedly destroying CIA operations and sources in Afghanistan with the intel he compromised, not to mention the weapons designs he sold.”

Steve raised an eyebrow in concern. “Advanced weapons development?”

Rumlow nodded in acquiescence. “The guys got a taste for ‘exotic’ weaponry judging by the stuff he developed for the CIA.”

“What kind of ‘exotic weaponry’ are we talking about?” Cap asked.

“Sonic and ultrasonic weaponry are among most noted by the CIA but as we can see his tastes have since branched out. Our standard ear protection should suffice for this operation.”

Steve didn’t like the hint of doubt he caught in Rumlow’s voice but decided not to press. SHIELD’s ear protection had proven more than sufficient in the past against various stun and sonic weapons. Of course, they had never taken on anyone who specialized in those weapons either. And they were already utilizing the best protection SHIELD had.

Natasha studied the data with a clinical eye. “This reeks of black marketers. These guys must be expecting a huge pay off if they’re willing to kill six law enforcement officers and two SHIELD agents in broad daylight just to make out with that much hardware.”

Rumlow nodded and pulled up another set of images. “Intel isn’t clear yet but we do suspect black market. Ever since New York, we’ve heard rumors of interested parties looking to get their hands on these weapons and willing to pay obscene amounts of money for them. Foreign terrorists groups mostly, but one or two of the more well-funded domestic nutjobs have also been making noises. Now the Army, FBI, SHIELD and Homeland Security were quick to lock down Manhattan after the attack but a number of alien weapons have turned up missing. There is also the very real possibility some of those weapons may never have been accounted for in the first place. It was sheer chaos down there for the first few hours before the lockdown. People could have made off with any number of weapons. Five Chitauri weapons recently turned up in an Al Qaeda training camp a Seal Team raided a week ago and no one had a clue they were there.”

“Any idea on prospective buyers?” Steve asked.

Rumlow snorted. “Too many to count, Cap. People took notice what happened in New York. Everyone wants to get their hands on these weapons for their own ends. But there hasn’t been any chatter on the matter, meaning this deal was likely pre-arranged ahead of time.”

“Weapons? Equipment?”

“Terrorists are equipped with a mixture of weapons, H&K 416s, to G36Cs. Armor piercing rounds, ACOG and CCO scopes, GEN III PVS 14 night vision goggles, dragon skin body armor, and MITCH tactical helmets. These guys are outfitted with enough gear to take on a small army. Not to mention three full crates of Chitauri weapons.”

“I thought Chitauri weapons couldn’t be reactivated. Why would anyone go to the trouble?”

Natasha shook her head. “Not true. Case ‘Item 47’; A Chitauri weapon was recovered by two civilians, Benny Pollack and Claire Wise. Rather than turn it in the two decided to start robbing banks with it. They did pretty well until they were caught by Jasper Sitwell. The two are now special agents of SHIELD and part of the reverse engineering teams. If only to keep them out of trouble.” Her lips thinned and she added, “These two ‘Special Ed cases’ are why I am a strong advocate for birth control.”

Steve wanted to protest but decided to save his breath. These weapons were incredibly powerful; it would make sense that a terrorist would want them. What he also found disturbing was that SHIELD wanted them too, rather than just destroying them as they should have been doing.

“What about the buyers?”

Rumlow continued with his brief. “Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Canadian Border Services Agency have eyes on them in a local motel. They suspect Middle Eastern buyers but they won’t know for sure until they have them in custody. They’re waiting on the go word from us before they move in.”

“Good. We have eyes on the drop site?” Steve asked.

Rumlow pulled an overhead digital map of the area. “We have an AWACs in the area and continuous coverage with a Global Hawk orbiting the site.” A tiny blue square was highlighted on a ridge overlooking the main quarry. “This is Barton’s position here. As you can see he has a perfect, unobstructed view of the terrain where the deal is going down.”

“The one place you really don’t want him if you’re an enemy,” Natasha said sotto voce, though Steve heard her anyway. 

“Alright, establish communications with Barton and link him in to our channel ASAP. I want to hear things from him. Then send word to Canadian authorities to take down the buyers. Last thing we need is to deal with them showing up midway through the take down.”

Rumlow nodded and went to work coordinating with the co-pilot and establishing a secure link to their ground side agent before he nodded in Caps direction.

“Barton, comm check, secure.” Cap asked.

“Hawkeye, loud and clear, secure,” came the clear and terse reply.

“What do you see?” Steve asked.

“I have eyes on the package with over half a dozen gunmen in the immediate vicinity. Another eight establishing security at two entry/exit points into the quarry; a four man team at each checkpoint. Another four are guarding over eight hostages at the main administrative/cafeteria compound. I’m sending the information directly to your tac-map….now.”

On the screen, four red squares highlighted each of the two main roads leading into and out of the quarry, another red square highlighted the main administrative building and finally a red circle in the middle of the quarry next to a river that bisected the quarry. Steve took a few seconds to study the information and then decided on his course of action.

“Alright, this is how we’re going to play this. Rumlow, I want you to split STRIKE into two teams. Team 1 will focus on getting the hostages out safely. Rumlow, that’s your game. Team 2 led by Gains with Natasha will setup for the take down at the exchange site. I’ll deal with the two entry/exit points then work my way toward the drop site. On my go order we’ll hit the admin compound and the drop point simultaneously.”

“You’ll be without support.” Rumlow noted. “And you’ll need to cross 3 miles of rough terrain between the two sites.”

“He’s right, Cap,” Barton relayed.“They’re maintaining radio comms between the two points at ten minute intervals, and contact with the admin building at 10 min intervals. You’ll need to be quick in your takedowns. Also be advised these guys are utilizing specialized ear protection, if you can snag some during the take downs I suggest you do so.” 

Steve glanced at the screen for a moment; studying the terrain in detail then shook his head, completely unconcerned. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

3 miles in ten minutes and he wasn’t even remotely worried. The team members of STRIKE were shaking their heads with a mixture of awe and jealousy.

“What’s this about ear protection?” Steve asked.

“Each team is equipped with at least one sonic rifle. Highly focused and directed. It’s sorta similar to the sonic cannons Stark developed a few years ago, only miniaturized. Our standard ear protection can protect you from it but only briefly. Sustained fire from these sonic weapons will overwhelm them however. My advice is for everyone to switch out their ear protection at the earliest chance they get.”

“That’ll leave the Strike team hitting the drop site very vulnerable,” Rumlow noted in deep concern.

Steve thought on it for a moment before an idea hit him. “I’ll snatch the specialized ear protection from the guards at the ECPs and then distribute them to STRIKE 1 once I get on scene. We’ll take a few moments to switch out and then we’ll proceed to hit our objective. Rumlow, once you’ve taken down the enemy at the admin building and secure the hostages ensure you also switch out your ear pro. Also secure the sonic weapon if practical. If these weapons have been sold on the black market and our standard hearing protection is vulnerable we’ll need to develop countermeasures.”

Rumlow nodded with a bit of relief. It was the best on the spot plan they could make given the circumstances.

“You might want to hurry, Cap. These guys are starting to get jittery,” Barton supplied via the radio.

“Roger that. Hang tight, Hawkeye, we’ll be there shortly.”

“Standing by.”

Steve stood tall and fastened his helmet securely then locked his shield on his back and took a moment to look at his new uniform: a dark navy blue suit with double bands of subdued silver wrapping around the chest and shoulders, with the star interrupting the bands in the center of his chest. The suit was the SHIELD stealth strike suit designed solely for him with reinforced spider-silk fabrics for increased ballistic protection. Utilitarian-looking yet functional and fairly comfortable, it was perfect for black ops. Still, he missed the old Stars and Stripes.

“One minute from drop point one, Captain.”

“Understood, bring us down to two hundred feet. Once I’m away, make best speed to drop point two. Any word from the Canadian authorities?”

“Taking the buyers down as we speak, Captain Rogers.”

Steve nodded as he felt the Quinjet quickly lose altitude before finally leveling off; the jet engines going virtually silent as they fell to minimal power while most of the work was done with the twin rotor blades.

“Coming up on insertion point one, Captain Rogers.”

Steve hit the control lowing the ramp of the Quinjet.

“Ah, Cap, don’t you think you need a chute?” Rumlow asked with a look of bewildered concern on his face.

Cap walked slowly toward the edge of the ramp before turning back with a smirk, “Don’t really need one, but thanks. See you on the ground!” 

And with that he was off, plummeting through the now night sky with the grounding rushing to meet him. He acted on instinct and training as he brought his feet and knees together and kept them loose to absorb and roll with the impact. He did not have to wait long. The ground rushed to meet him, the wind whipping at his face and the feeling of his stomach in his throat. In mere moments, he plummeted more than two hundred feet like a rock and he hit hard, hard enough that it would have shattered bones and ruptured the organs of regular men, killing them or at least severely maiming them.

He was not a regular man.

He rolled with the impact, careful to spread the jarring force evenly as he rolled into a tumble before springing to his feet, taking a moment to orientate himself before he was off toward his objective at a fast pace. While he had felt the shock and some pain from the punishing impact, it was muted. His body was more durable; capable of enduring far more than just a little fall from height.

The trees flew by in a blur as he ran, his breath coming is sharp even breaths as the oxygen moved from his lungs into his bloodstream to interact with the serum to explode with extraordinary levels of power. It seemed as if in no time at all, he was on his first objective.

He slowed to a walk and then lowered himself into a crouch as he silently stalked forward. He tagged all four men, all heavily armed at a small guard shack at the gate. They were lounging around and looking decidedly disinterested and bored, two of them were even fishing out cigarettes. Steve frowned at the lack of discipline but decided to accept this small stroke of luck.

The less likely they were prepared for anything, the better.

Steve thumbed his throat mike. “Rumlow, what’s your status?”

“STRIKE 1 is on the ground, proceeding to the admin building. We’ll be on site and ready for the take down in 10 minutes.”

“Understood. Natasha, what’s your status?”

“On the ground with STRIKE 2, proceeding to the drop point, ETA 11 minutes.”

Steve nodded at the report, so far things were proceeding smoothly. He waited patiently, crouched in the darkness and invisible to all but the most sensitive night optics as he inched closer and closer to the guard shack and the four unsuspecting guards around it.

Then he heard exactly what he’d been waiting for.

“Iron gate, this is guard point 1, negative contacts, all secure.”

“Acknowledged guard point 1, stay on your toes.”

“Roger, Iron gate, Guard point 1 out.”

Steve was up and moving before the final syllable left his mouth. With a swift economy of motion Steve breached the tree line; a sound of snapping branches and heavy thuds guaranteed to draw the startled glances of his quarry. 

Exactly as he hoped it would.

In one swift motion, he pulled his shield form his back and let it fly. The guards had only started to bring their weapons up and thumb the safeties just as the shield struck the first of them in the head. The shield ricocheted off his head into the face of his buddy five feet away. The shield then ricocheted off of his face into the opening of the guard shack and the guard inside, but Steve was already on his target by then.

With a solid front kick to the midsection, the guard doubled over, dropping his weapon on reflex as he gasped for breath violently forced from his lungs. The shield exploded through the front glass window into Steve’s hands where he twirled the shield for a second before bringing the front of it down onto head of the man kneeling before him. It had taken him less than ten seconds to take down all four of them.

He moved quickly to secure them to either each other or to hard surfaces that wouldn’t break, utilizing zip ties or handcuffs where he could before he moved to disable their primary weapons and side arms. Satisfied he grabbed the radio from the leader of the group, while securing their ear protection and then took off on a sprint toward his second objective.

“ECP 1 down. Moving to ECP 2.” Steve reported.

“STRIKE 1, five minutes from the admin building. Proceeding as planned. No hostile contacts.”

“STRIKE 2, proceeding to objective, but its slow going. This terrain is really rough, Cap. Revising our ETA to 7 minutes from my mark….mark,” Gains reported and Steve couldn’t help but frown at that. 

The boreal forests surrounding the quarry was some of the thickest vegetation he’d ever seen. Thick pines converging in such density as to make fast practical movement almost impossible for anyone who wasn’t him. Add to that the heavy granite and other rocks from the quarry darting the area and it was amazing that STRIKE was moving as swiftly as they were, but that still left Steve a bit apprehensive. 

Their timetable was already close enough as it was.

He continued on pushing through the heavy ferns and pines with a speed that would have made an Olympian athlete smile with pride or be green with envy. Occasionally he would jump and swing from an overhanging branch to a nearby bolder before bouncing off into a rolling summersault before springing back up into a run. 

He really had to thank the instructors at SHIELD for introducing him to Parkour. It had become part of his new routine. After his…disappointing performance at New York, he had vowed he would never allow such a lackluster showing on his part to ever happen again. So, two days after the battle, he joined SHIELD in an official capacity and began a vigorous and intensive training program to not just bring him up to speed, but to push the limits of what a super soldier could accomplish. Intensive training in martial arts and parkour were only a part of the routine, but so too was he pushing the envelope of what his mind could accomplish as he studied tactics and strategy of all kinds and updating his education.

This new world he found himself left him both amazed and confused. The things these people had accomplished and took for granted each day would have made Howard cry with envy back in his day. Many of the diseases and afflictions that were prominent in his time were gone…only to be replaced by new challenges that even now were being worked on. Initially he had felt out of touch with this new world, and for good reason. He was a man out of time and out of his depth, tossed in to a strange world with only hint of commonality with the one he came from. He was literally Rip van Winkle.

It had left him disorientated and a bit melancholic for all that he had lost…at first. But New York changed things. More specifically, it had changed something within him. He refused to surrender to despair, instead choosing to forge a new path in this life, one which he could be proud of…of what Peggy would be proud of. New York had showed him that despite the strangeness of this new world he was in, that there was still a need for good men and there was still a need for heroes and symbols.

And he could and would be that man.

All too soon, he found himself three miles later at the second guard shack. Checking his watch he realized he had a minute to spare. He took a moment to take a look around and immediately noticed something. These guards were far more alert than the last group. He would have to deal with them with a bit more subtlety.

He crouched and moved slowly from tree to tree, moving swiftly and silently like a panther creeping toward its prey in preparation to pounce. He crept closer and closer to the shack till he was right under it. Listening, watching, waiting.

“Iron Gate this is guard shack 2, Negative contacts, all is quiet.”

“Roger that ECP 2. No sightings of our buyers yet?”

“Negative, all is quiet, over.”

“Roger keep an eye out, we’re expecting them soon.”

“Understood, wilco. ECP 2 out.”

Steve struck in that instant.

Diving through the window of the guard shack, he rolled to his feet just as the two shocked guards started to respond. The one nearest to the door received a kick to the lower back just as he started to turn. He flew out the door into his buddy as both went tumbling into the ground in a tangle of bodies. Steve struck the second man, knocking his weapon away and rendering him senseless with a series of well-placed strikes designed to incapacitate a man as quickly as possible.

A snap-click cut through Steve’s psyche like a knife and he responded instantly. He grabbed the guard and lifted him up then through him through the window into the fourth guard. As before both went down in a tumble of bodies. 

Steve moved quickly and hit the first two guards in succession just as they were starting to recover. He them moved over and quickly disabled the other two. As before he stripped their weapons, gear and ear protection before making a point of firmly securing the four guards.

“ECP 2 is down. Rumlow, what’s your status?” 

“Just got on station, setting up for the take down. Cap, we’ve got a problem, these guys are talking about killing some of the hostages. I don’t know what escalated the situation but it sounds like they mean business. Please advise.”

“Standby. Gains, what’s your status?” When he got no reply he tried again. “Gains, what’s your status?”

“Cap, Romanoff. Gains is down. We were moving down a gully to our point when Gains lost his footing and slipped in. He broke his leg and can’t continue.”

“Mission takes priority! Leave me and get to the drop site. I’ll be okay on my own!” Gains insisted.

Steve had no choice but to do just that. The mission had been going smoothly up to this point, but it was inevitable that Murphy would strike. The mission, as always, took priority.

“Rumlow, take them down now. Natasha, take Strike 2 and get to the drop site. What’s your ETA?”

“Two minutes, Cap,” Black Widow responded.

A simultaneous take down was definitely out of the question now.

“Get there on the double, I’m on my way. Hawkeye, keep us up to date on what’s going on. Provide cover when Natasha and Strike get in position. Gains, sit tight, as soon as we’re finished up here we’ll swing by to get you.”

“Sorry, Cap,” Gains grunted through the radio.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Gains. Things happen.”

“Moving out, Cap,” Natasha reported.

“I’m ready to start putting arrows in bodies, Cap.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He took off at a full sprint. Being on a hard packed dirt road, he didn’t quite have to worry as much about the rough terrain, meaning he could put everything he had into making it to the drop. When he made it about a third of the way he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire echoing through the night. Just at the same moment the radio he had confiscated blared to life.

“Everyone report in! What was that! Report!” The demand for information was met with silence.

“Rumlow, was that you?”

“Affirmative Cap. Bad guys neutralized at the admin building but we didn’t quite get the drop on all of them. A few managed to get a couple of rounds off before we took them down. I take it they heard us?” Steve could almost see the grimace on Rumlow’s face at the question.

“Yep, they heard you, Rumlow.” Hawkeye came over the radio. “They’re moving to secure their weapons crates. Looks like they’re planning to bug out. They’re looking a lot more alert now.”

“What’s the status on the hostages?” Steve asked. 

“Hostages are secure and unharmed, Cap,” Rumlow reported.

“Cap, they’ve finished loading the vehicles and are bugging out!” Hawkeye reported.

“Put some explosive arrows through them and ensure they don’t! Natasha, where are you?”

“Coming up on the drop site now!”

“Engage, take them down. Hawkeye?”

Three explosions immediately followed by gunfire answered his call.

“Trucks neutralized, they’re going nowhere. But I’m taking fire. They’ve got me pinned!” Hawkeye reported.

As Steve got closer, he could hear the gunfire echo through the radio with Hawkeye.

More gunfire erupted, this time the more familiar sounding weapons utilized by shield personnel.

“Engaging!” Romanoff reported.

As Steve ran he could hear the sound of the firefight intensify and just as he reached the edges of an open field leading toward the center of the quarry, something hit him. Something that hit him with enough force to stagger and stop him in his tracks. A digitized deafening screech slammed into his body as he fell his knees and grabbed his ears. The sound was disorientating and threw off his sense of balance making him feel nauseous and weak. The new ear protection stopped the worst of it, but it didn’t leave him completely immune from its effects.

It lasted for what felt like forever but was over in moments and when it stopped, Steve couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears. The night was eerily quiet. Where only moments ago an intense firefight was taking place, now there was just nothing.

“Natasha, report,” Steve gasped out. Nothing. “Natasha?” Silence.

“Any Strike 2 personnel, report!” Again no one responded. And Steve felt his gut go cold at the thought of Natasha and Strike down.

“Rumlow, report?”

“Still here, Cap,” Rumlow responded tersely. “My guys are good and the hostages secure. But we all heard something. Was that what I thought it was?”

Steve’s thoughts turned to the pre-mission briefing that Rumlow gave. 

“Ultrasonic blast, high intensity,” Steve said. “These new ear pieces block out the worst of it but just barely. Our standard ear-pro however…..”

“Strike 2? Romanoff, Barton?” Rumlow asked.

“All down,” Steve responded.

“Fuck. All right we’ll break down from here and linkup with you.”

“Negative, stay with the hostages. They are your priority. Understood?”

“…Understood, Cap. Strike 1 will hold this position.” Rumlow responded though he didn’t sound particularly happy.

“Get on the horn with the Canadian authorities. Have them collapse their perimeter on to you. Once the hostages have been safely handed over only then will Strike make their way to the drop point.”

“Roger that, Cap,” Rumlow responded.

Steve took off at a run toward the drop point, which he could see quite clearly from the burning vehicles in the distance and a number of shadows running around the flaming trucks. He picked up the pace.

He stopped and went prone near a small natural forming trench. As he took in the sight of what he was seeing, a number of men were moving the Strike personnel around andwere readying weapons clearly intent on executing the helpless agents.

Steve had no choice but to act before they could. Acting on instinct, he threw his shield at the nearest guy with all his might. The shield flew true, smacking the guy in his helmeted head before ricocheting into one of the burning trucks and then back toward Steve. Four of the men turned and opened fire with a fifth quickly moving out of sight. Steve brought up his vibranium alloy shield as the rounds bounced harmlessly off it. He moved forward quickly, intent on closing the distance rapidly as the enemy continued to waste rounds ineffectively against his shield.

When he got close, he used his shield to smack away the rifle from the nearest mercenary before sending a solid jab to his abdomen then an uppercut with his shield. The man was knocked backward like a rag doll, bonelessly twisting in the air before coming to land ten feet away with a solid thud. He was among them now, intermixed in their ad hoc formation. He was moving so fast they were unsure of their ability to fire at him without hitting their comrades, and he would use that to his advantage. He maintained his momentum as he moved, smacking one guy with his shield, knocking him to the ground, then disabling another with an elbow to the face, followed by a knee to the solar plexus. He spun around the man then kicked him into the fourth before flinging the shield down to the man he disabled earlier. The shield bounced off his head with an echoing clang and returned to Steve’s hand. Steve returned to the last two men and quickly disabled them. 

He turned to find a man in a red shirt and black trousers with a black tactical vest and bandana with a set of glasses that had the left eye crossed out with an X. The main aimed at him and on instinct, Steve snapped the shield up in a defensive position, just in time as Crossfire opened up with the sonic rifle.

The air around him seemed to distort, he could feel the sonic pulses hammering at him but he gritted his teeth and held firm. The man stepped forward and amped up the intensity and Steve had to grit his teeth as he fought against it.

The improved ear protection did do the job of filtering out most of the harmful sound, but enough was getting through to start giving Steve a headache. Something landed close to Steve’s foot and he had just enough time to look down and recognize a grenade and he jumped out of the way while leveling his shield in the direction of the grenade itself.

The detonation caught the shield just as Steve jumped and curled behind it. The blast knocked him back several feet and he landed on his back. Quickly rolling over, Steve snapped to his feet when another grenade landed near him, but one clearly of a different make. He had just enough time to crouch behind his shield when vertigo overtook him.

The world tumbled in his vision as he lost all sense of balance. He fell back, stumbled and then hit the ground as he lost the battle to remain upright. His ears were ringing like something fierce and he shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs.

Steve slowly rose to all fours, all the while trying to clear the ringing from his ears and keep his dinner from spilling out onto the ground. He noticed something off to his right…an arrow sticking out of the ground that he was certain hadn’t been there before. He looked to his left to see William Cross speaking to him as he leveled the sonic rifle but Steve couldn’t make out any of the words.

But he really wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face.

Steve adjusted his body position to conceal the imbedded arrow as he brought up his shield. The directed sonic blasts hit the shield and then him standing behind it. He grunted, and staggered for a second from the oncoming energy, then dug his heels into the ground and tried to rise to a standing position but the energy hammering his shield was immense considering his disorientated state.

This was unlike anything Steve had expected. The power coming from this weapon bordered on the obscene if it was enough to keep him pinned in place like this. All he could do was grit his teeth and bear through it.

Suddenly everything stopped and it took Steve a few moments to realize that Crossfire wasn’t still pouring fire on him. He risked a peek from around his shield to see to see William Cross painfully gripping his left hand….and the arrow sticking out of it.

Cap slowly rose to his feet on wobbly legs as Hawkeye seemed to just appear out of the shadows with his an arrow drawn on William Cross.

Crossfire’s jaw dropped as he stared in open disbelief at the man who should have been disabled. The two traded words back and forth but Steve couldn’t hear what they were saying over the painful ringing in his ears.

Suddenly, Crossfire lunged for the nearby weapon, his hand finding purchase just as an arrow imbedded into it. On reflex, Crossfire let the weapon go as he howled in pain and rage.

Thankfully, Steve was able to hear this as the ringing slowly began to fade as his hearing returned.

“Last chance, Cross. Next arrow I place will be between your eyes. What’s it going to be?” Barton asked coldly.

Crossfire looked between Hawkeye and Captain America before he seemed to deflate. “I surrender.”

Hawkeye smirked, “Good call.” His eyes slowly turned to Steve but there was no doubt his attention was focused on their subdued enemy. “I got him covered, Cap. We might want to subdue him.”

Steve scowled. “I got just the thing in mind.” He moved forward as he brought the shield to rest against Crossfire’s head then he punched the inside, hard. The resounding clang resonated into the night as William Cross dropped bonelessly to the ground.”

Barton released the tension in his bow and returned the arrow to his quiver then smiled. “Another successful OP. Didn’t quite go according to plan, but a solid win in my book.”  
Steve messaged his ears to work out the residual ringing as he worked his jaw. “If you say so. This one could have ended badly.”

“Yeah…,” Barton agreed tonelessly.

Steve took a minute to look him over. The man was pale and haggard looking with a couple days’ worth of stubble and bags under his eyes. But despite everything, his movements were quick, sure and strong.

Barton’s head snapped up to a point behind Steve just as he heard it himself. Sirens. The Canadian authorities were coming. 

“Looks like the cavalry arrived,” Barton said cheerfully as he knelt next to Natasha and gently nudged her. She stirred slightly before her eyes fluttered open.

“Looks like,” Steve agreed as he clipped his shield to his back. He began working with Barton to wake the members of Strike.

The Canadian Authorities plus Strike 1 soon arrived to secure the area. Weapons drawn, they expertly established a perimeter and began checking for any stragglers. Lines of communications were set up and established and a team was sent to grab Gains from the nearby culver. Paramedics quickly went about checking the members of the strike team before moving off to check the down mercenaries after they were secured.

Rumlow came up to both Cap and Hawkeye as the two chatted near Romanoff, who was scowling at the EMT trying to check her over.

“Canadian authorities have the guards at the ECPs you took out. They’re also checking out the hostages we recovered. That and the bad guys you bagged here account for everyone. I’ve briefed the senior Canadian agent on the ground on what went down here. They should have everything they need to close out their reports. Soon as our guys check out we’re good to go.”

“What about the buyers?”

“Secured without a fight, though they’re not talking. SHIELD will likely take custody of them to figure out who they procuring the weapons for,” Rumlow answered.

Steve nodded. “Right. Your guys alright?”

Rumlow nodded. “Yeah, my guys are good. I sent a few of them with the EMTs to go pickup Gains. They’re looking him over now. Broken leg. He’ll be out for weeks till he heals up.”

“We’ll manage in the meantime,” Steve assured.

Rumlow looked him over. “Are you alright, Cap?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m okay. Little stiffness here and there. Nothing that won’t be resolved after a good night’s rest.”

Barton smirked. “Yeah, those 200 foot drops must be a real killer on the body.”

“I told you I’m fine!” an upset feminine voice snapped. Everyone turned to see Natasha brush the EMT aside. The EMT frowned, startled at her refusal for a basic looking over.

“He’s just doing his job, Nat,” Barton said with a smile.

Natasha deflated somewhat. “I know. But I’m fine. So we get everybody?”

“Yep.” Clint smiled.

“And the weapons?”

“Yep.” Clint answered again.

Natasha nodded, and then looked to Steve. “Intel dropped the ball on just how effective Crossfire’s sonic weapons were.”  
Steve nodded solemnly; thankful for the fact he hadn’t lost anyone on this op due to poor intelligence. “That they did. I’ll be sure to speak to them about that when we get back. Rumlow only got the basics when we put this together.”

“I should have pressed harder,” Rumlow said with a hint of self-recrimination in his voice.

Steve shook his head. “Not your fault, Rumlow. But we’ll be sure to put the pressure on Intel next time.” Steve turned to face the rest of STRIKE. “Everyone good?”

“Everyone’s good, Cap,” Rumlow answered. “Gains will be EVAC’d out to the nearest hospital to get his leg checked out. If…it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to stick with him. Unless you need me back at HQ?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah, that’s fine. I’ll handle the post mission debriefings. Let’s go speak to him then we’ll head out.”  
As Steve and Rumlow left to talk to a clearly in pain Gains, Natasha settled her attention on their resident archer. “Hey. What was that all about?”

Clint regarded her evenly. “What was ‘what’ all about?”

She motioned to the mercenaries then the weapons that were being prepared for the Quinjet just hovering in for a landing.

“This. Going after these guys alone without back up. This isn’t like you,” she said in a worried tone of voice.

“I’m fine, Nat. Really,” Barton answered emphatically.

She searched his eyes looking for something before frowning ever so slightly. Then her features schooled themselves into a blank mask just as Steve came back.  
“Gains will be fine. A little wounded pride for not seeing that pothole, but a broken leg won’t keep him out for long. He’s staying overnight and Rumlow will stay with him. Let’s get out of here.”

With the help of the Canadian authorities, they loaded the weapons onto the Quinjet while Cap briefly spoke to the lead agent on the ground. They shook hands and then Cap boarded the Quinjet.

As the jet took off Steve couldn’t visibly relax. He placed his hands behind his head as he replayed the mission in his mind. It hadn’t gone to plan but even then they had been able to adapt on the fly with some lateral thinking. Despite his growing misgivings about the way SHIELD operated, he had to admit they had some very good people he was glad to be working beside. 

And as Steve mused on his thoughts of the mission, he missed the subtle worried glares Natasha Romanoff was directing at their sleeping archer.

 

 

*******

New York

 

Hermione was completely, hopelessly and utterly lost, but she comforted herself with the fact that there were, as of yet, no sign of any Death Eaters, and she was, at least, in the right neighborhood, if the information she’d collected was accurate at least. According to that, Steve Roger’s old stomping grounds were in this part of the city, and that was as good a place as any to start looking for him. 

It really shouldn’t have been so difficult to find Captain America – his face was plastered everywhere, from newspapers to magazines, and he’d quickly replaced the flag as the symbol of the United States, but Steve Rogers was startlingly difficult to locate. Given the recent spike in his publicity, and how easily his personal information could be found, it wasn’t much of a shock that he wanted his privacy. Just a week before she’d left for the states, Hermione was still being hounded by reporters for interviews, and the relief of being unrecognizable was overwhelming. She liked being able to blend into the crowd again, and she imagined the same could be said for Steve Rogers, particularly since nearly all of his personal information was widely available for the public, and that he was nearly one hundred years old, but still had the appearance of someone in his twenties or thirties. 

That had been quite the shock for Hermione. She’d expected Rogers to be retired, like her great aunt, or maybe even dead, but when Harry’s letter informed her that Captain America was Steve Rogers, clearly still active and in excellent shape for a hundred year old man, and now targeted by Death Eaters – because of her letter – she’d nearly fainted and had hopped on the first portkey she could find to New York to find him. That, however, was as far as her plan had carried her. Unable to find Rogers and now hopelessly lost, Hermione was tired, hungry and getting more frustrated by the moment. What exactly had she expected? To just pop up in New York; a city of 22 million people, and run right into Captain America, walking down Main Street, or perhaps through Time Square, as jolly as you please? Honestly. She’d been around Harry and Ron too long, their impulsiveness was wearing off. 

Then again, if she hadn’t taken all that time collecting maps she might have found Rogers’ already. The fact that she hadn’t was beginning to make her panicky. He had to be somewhere, but none of the papers or magazines mentioned a public appearance or event. She didn’t know if he had a day job besides being a superhero, but anything outside of the military would be too conspicuous for someone whose face was so recognizable and Captain America was rarely seen outside New York City – so he had to be here. Then again, if the Death Eaters had already found him… No. She couldn’t entertain that thought, not yet, it was too early. She’d only been here a day, and she was three days behind the Death Eaters. If she was having trouble finding him, they were likely having a devil of a time, particularly since they were unlikely to use any muggle resources to aid their search. Besides, even with magic it would be difficult to subdue Captain America, given how easily he’d matched alien invaders in hand to hand combat. Then again, if the Death Eaters had snuck up on him or stunned him from behind… She was going to drive herself insane with all this back and forth. She needed to take a moment and sit, reorient herself and try a new approach. 

Stepping into a nearby diner, Hermione staked a claim on a booth in a quiet corner, piling her collection of papers and maps onto the tablet to examine after a cup of coffee. The prices were outrageous, but the coffee was decent, so Hermione didn’t complain, just stared gloomily into her mug, mentally berating herself for her impulsiveness and trying to ignore the throb in her temples, indicating the beginning of what promised to be a massive headache. Had searching for horcruxes been this difficult? At least those stayed in one place. Well, most of them.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Merlin, Hermione,” she muttered. “You act as though you’ve never done anything like this before.” She ignored the jingle of the bell as the door opened, signaling the entry of another customer. 

She frowned as several people called out a greeting, and jumped when the waitress tapped her on the shoulder. “More coffee, sweetie?” She had a pot in her hand.   
Hermione nodded wearily. “Please.” 

“Big fan, huh?” The waitress asked, filling Hermione’s mug. 

“Beg pardon?” 

The waitress gestured at the maps and papers sprawled across the table. “Of Cap, right?” 

Hermione flushed. This woman probably thought her a nutter. “Oh, er…”

The waitress just smiled and stood back. “I prefer Iron Man myself, something about a bad boy, ya know? But I see why all the girls swoon over Rogers. He’s a cutie, even if he is old.”

“I can hear you, Mary.” 

Hermione glanced up, startled by the deep baritone of a man, and saw Steve Rogers, of all people, frowning at the snickering waitress. She’d recognize him anywhere, given the description her great-aunt had provided as well as the pictures splattered all over the place, but Hermione hadn’t expected him to be so… handsome. Even folded into the booth, she could tell he was tall and muscular. Clean cut, with sleek blonde hair and bright blue eyes, he was as All-American as one could get, with a fresh face and a warm smile that left Hermione a little flustered. She’d never seen anyone so striking, and, embarrassingly, Hermione gaped, blinking owlishly. 

Mary lifted an eyebrow, smirking. “He’s a regular here.” Hermione blinked again, and Mary patted her on the shoulder and turned to leave. “Good luck, honey.”  
Hermione looked around at Steve, gobsmacked to find the person she’d been searching New York for sitting in the same room, foot propped on a bouncing knee, humming quietly and perusing a menu. Hours, hours, she’d been searching the city, circling twice around Stark Tower and then getting hopelessly lost and somehow ending up in Times Square then to reorient herself just in time to get lost in Captain Rogers’ very neighborhood. She was tired, her feet hurt, and she’d driven herself absolutely barmy collecting information and maps and pamphlets and then he just walks right in the door? She was struck with the urge to tear her own hair out, but resisted. 

He glanced up, meeting her gaze and she flushed at his curious smile. Merlin, she was acting like a second year all over again, swooning and fawning! Mustering her courage, and steeling herself, she swept her papers back into her bag, collected her coffee, stood and approached as casually as she could manage. That is, not at all casually, stubbing her toe on a chair as she passed. 

“Erm, hello-?”

He looked up, smiled, flushed and stood, brushing a hand over his jeans. “Yes, Miss?” 

“Granger, Hermione Granger.” She said, startled. Taller than she’d initially thought; he stood head and shoulders over her, his t-shirt clinging to a well-muscled torso.   
He extended a hand. “Steve Rogers.”

They shook hands and she swallowed hard at the warmth of his palm, dwarfing hers. “Pleasure.” She retracted her hand as though scalded, and his brow furrowed, blue eyes confused. “I was er, wondering if we could talk? If that’s alright?” She drew her great-aunt’s journal out of her messenger bag, presenting it to him. “Y’see, Margaret Carter is my great aunt.” 

He blinked, confused and uncertain for a moment, then smiled. “You look like her.” He said softly, and Hermione flushed again, smiling. Evidently her great aunt hadn’t been the only one with a crush, if his tone was anything to go by. “Please, have a seat.” 

She slid into the booth across from him, and he pushed the menu away, uninterested, and started flipping through the diary instead, pausing to brush fingers over the old photos pasted inside. “I haven’t seen Peggy in… quite a while. How is she?” 

Hermione sighed. “Not well, I’m afraid. She doesn’t recognize my mother anymore…” At his pained expression she quickly switched gears. “I’ll be happy to give you the address of where she’s staying. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you visit. It might even help with the memory loss.”

“I’d like that, Hermione, thank you.” 

She smiled and quickly scrawled the address on a napkin, wondering how best to approach the topic that a group of evil wizards were targeting him because of something she’d done. Lovely plan this was turning out to be. Steve accepted the napkin, folding it and tucking it in his jacket pocket carefully. 

“Er, Steve?”

“Yes?” 

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something. I’m… in a bit of trouble.”

Steve looked up. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Oh, he was making this difficult. Hermione would have preferred he be suspicious rather than concerned. She could handle suspicion. 

“Well, in a way, yes, but er…” 

This was going to be tricky, what with the statute of secrecy to take into consideration, but how far did the statute cover? Besides, someone’s life was in danger, and Hermione thought she’d read something about there being an exception in life or death circumstances and… Her brain came to a screeching halt when Steve reached across the table and gently took one of her hands, making her look up. His brow was furrowed in concern, hands warm around hers, and she nearly swallowed her tongue. 

“If there’s anything I can do for one of Peggy’s grand-nieces, I’d be more than happy, Hermione.” He said sincerely. She was struck by the urge to kick herself. It was entirely her fault that Steve was in danger after all, and he was so sweet, offering to help her, a complete stranger. 

“Steve, you aren’t going to believe me, but-” she glanced over Steve’s shoulder, out the diner window, and froze, mouth going dry. Two men were standing just outside, staring right at her and Steve, hands tucked out of sight. She might not have noticed them at all, were it not for the familiar black robes. Death Eaters, right here, in broad daylight. Good Lord they must be desperate. 

Steve looked over his shoulder, frowning at the men. “Do you know them?”

“After a fashion,” Hermione grimaced, glancing around to find another exit. She’d already been spotted, no point in pretending now, but they didn’t have to wait like sitting ducks. 

“What does that mean?” 

Hermione looked back and swore under her breath. They were moving towards the door. “They aren’t exactly friendly acquaintances…”

Steve frowned, lowering his voice. “Are they following you?” 

“Well…” 

Hermione looked back around, finding the Death Eaters and wondering how quickly she could draw her wand, tucked up her sleeve, but it was too late, their wands were already drawn. In the next instant the room seemed to explode as a curse struck the glass, shattering it instantly, the second bursting through the wood of the wall and doorframe. Steve hit the ground, arm sweeping out to catch Hermione and pull her to the ground with him. Another curse struck the wall above their heads, and a waitress screamed. The other patrons all scattered, some fleeing out the door, others out of the broken wall, while others were huddled on the floor, bloodied and injured. Steve swiveled around and kicked a table over, blocking the next curse, though the table flipped backwards in pieces, useless. Steve jumped to his feet and took the Death Eater down in a spectacular tackle, wand flying, and Hermione whipped her wand free of her sleeve, knocking the other to the floor with a curse before he could get a clear shot on Steve. Hermione crawled through the debris of the diner, wondering how many Death Eaters there might be, when Steve returned and hefted her to her feet, hands surprisingly gentle on her shoulders.

“We have to get you out of here.” Steve said, guiding her around to an emergency exit, keeping his body between her and the opening of the wall. “There’ll be more.”

“Me? Steve-!”

“It’s alright, Hermione, you’ll be safe.” He interrupted, tucking her back against the wall while he peeked outside. 

The wood next to his head exploded, shrapnel flying, and he ducked out of the way, his cheek and temple scratched, but otherwise unhurt. They ducked as more curses shattered the glass and burst through the wall, slipping back around to make for what was left of the front door. 

“Who are these guys?!” Steve shouted over the din of exploding glass and wood. 

“Death Eaters!” Hermione replied; wand in hand. She silently cast a shield charm, and looked at Steve. “Stay close!” 

“Wait, Hermione-!”

She grabbed his hand and bolted, curses bouncing off the shield as the pair dove through the broken wall. Hermione hit one Death Eater with a jinx and Steve clocked another with a fist to the nose, kicking him back into his companions, scattering two like bowling pins. By Hermione’s count there were at least six, all convening on the remnants of the diner, though a few apparated out of sight, plumes of black smoke churning behind them as they soared off. Hermione caught the Death Eater Steve had punched with a curse, knocking him back to the ground, unconscious. Steve didn’t look fazed, just blinked as some of the Death Eaters took off in flight, then grabbed Hermione and sprinted down the street. 

“My bike’s this way!” He called. Hermione struggled to keep the shield up and between them as the Death Eaters lobbed curse after curse after them, she returning fire.   
One Death Eater swooped low, black smoke billowing, and Steve rolled underneath him, allowing Hermione to knock him out of the air with a jinx. The motorcycle, and Steve’s familiar shield, was only a few feet away, but Hermione could feel the shield starting to give under the assault, and she whipped around, spell flying from her wand, blocking Steve and attempting to raise another shield. 

She took the Death Eater’s curse right in the stomach.


End file.
